


Welcome the Dawn

by ChronicallyOwlish



Category: Andromeda (TV)
Genre: Backstory, Crew as Family, Depression, Developing Relationship, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, F/M, Friends to Lovers, Friendship/Love, Mayfly–December Romance, Post-Series, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Slow Burn
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-06-24
Updated: 2018-11-04
Packaged: 2018-11-18 08:53:36
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 30
Words: 205,662
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11287893
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ChronicallyOwlish/pseuds/ChronicallyOwlish
Summary: It is the hour before the dawn at the end of the long night. The Abyss is gone, the New Commonwealth is safe, and Andromeda's crew struggles to find their places in this new universe. In the wake of unspeakable destruction two of Andromeda's crew especially must learn how to put their lives back together though their worlds have been ripped away from them.





	1. Bittersweet

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ten years ago I started this story, and after a year abandoned it when life got in the way. It sat forgotten until a few weeks ago when it surfaced from the depths of my brain and persistently begged to be finished. This story was truly the last time I had practiced writing fiction, yet my style, voice, and abilities have evolved over the years. I could not continue where I left off so instead I began to rewrite this story from the beginning.
> 
> While the story is somewhat different now, since so much time has passed and my notes are lost, the heart of this story remains the same. When I first wrote “Welcome the Dawn” I wanted to bridge the gap between Trance’s character development in Seasons 1-3 vs 4-5 when she seemed to abandon all of her friendships to act as Dylan’s personal guide and oracle. I wanted to explore the everyday lives of Andromeda and her crew as they moved from their roles as harbingers of the light to keepers of it. How did they navigate this new universe where hope has been awakened and they are witnessing the birth of a new society? What about the Nietzscheans and Beka? What about the Lambent Kith Nebula? I wanted to explore Trance’s past and tie together the many seemingly disparate parts of her history scattered throughout the seasons. My goals are still the same. I hope you will enjoy this story and the new journey these characters are embarking on.
> 
> This story was originally posted on Fanfiction.net under the username Katarite and is currently being updated there as well.
> 
> Disclaimer:
> 
> I do not own Gene Roddenberry's Andromeda or Robert Hewitt Wolfe’s Coda. This story is for personal enjoyment and not for profit.

Bittersweet. That was the only word that Seamus Zelazny Harper could use to describe the day he had just barely managed to survive. Exactly how was one supposed to feel when the root of all evil was vanquished and your home planet destroyed within minutes of each other? Sorrow for billions of lives lost? Relief for the hundreds of billions more saved? Did he remember the past, dwelling on the faces and voices of those he loved so time didn’t remove them from his memory? Or, did he celebrate a future where the survivors were now free to build a more peaceful universe? How did one hold such vastly opposing emotional dichotomies without going insane?

As an engineer, his was a world of facts, of manuals, of certainties. Things either worked, or they didn’t. There was always a solution to the problem, and while in his short life he had done and seen more than most, nothing had come close to preparing him for this. There was no manual out there entitled “World Destruction and Defeating the Darkness, How to Deal”.

He stopped pacing his machine shop, took a deep breath, and sighed heavily in a futile attempt to calm the anxious energy coursing through him. He lowered himself onto the bed he kept in his machine shop for all nighters. His elbows came to rest on his knees, his head in his hands. He pressed his fists against his temples, using the pressure to help him center his racing thoughts on his aching body. Something real. Something tangible. He was on Andromeda. He was not alone. His crewmates, his friends, had survived with him. These were the facts. In his peripheral vision he could see his projects, scattered and unorganized at the best of times, thrown haphazardly across the room after Andromeda's beating from the Nietzscheans earlier. At least three works in progress were desperately broken, a metaphor for his current life if he ever saw one. Not that it mattered. He hadn’t worked on any of them in years. Another metaphor.

With a growl of frustration he slapped his hands down on the mattress and launched himself into frantic pacing again. After the battle he’d made sure Rhade and the injured were safe in Trance’s somewhat overwhelmed hands and gone straight to work on Andromeda’s key systems. By the time Andromeda sent Rommie to relieve him of duty his back ached from stooping so long, his knees and elbows were bruised from crawling through conduits, and he almost couldn’t remember the scent of air not tainted with smoke and ozone. His exhaustion was a living, breathing thing. But, at least he didn’t have time to think. He could keep it together as long as he didn’t have to think.

Technically, Rommie had ordered him to his quarters, physically placing herself between him and his work, threatening with hands on her hips to carry him there herself. He had gone to Machine Shop 17 instead. It didn’t matter. He wouldn’t find stillness here, nor anywhere else. Andromeda meant well, but she didn’t understand. How could she? He felt a pang of loneliness so strong that it emptied his lungs and clenched his stomach. When Dylan had woken to discover that his world was 300 years gone, he’d still had Andromeda there. He had a mission. A reason to keep fighting. Right now, Harper wished desperately he could find his reason to keep fighting. Everyone on Earth was gone. His entire family disintegrated into a cloud of rock, fire, and organic matter in an instant. He’d been prepared to stay there forever, catch up with his cousins, maybe offer them some protection in this changing universe. Now he never would. Harper was certain bringing back a dead planet was beyond the abilities of even Trance Gemini, solar avatar. His family and his people were nothing more than nameless casualties in the war with the Abyss.

He sunk onto the bed again, this time laying down with his head on the pillow. Might as well try to do as Rommie ordered. Behind closed eyes all he could see was Earth lighting up in front of him. He could almost feel the heat of the slipfighter, hear the shouts of his crewmates pleading with him to return to Andromeda. He could feel the jerking of the buckie cables when they finally took matters into their own hands. It was insane to keep going, and he knew it, even then. His sensors were giving him the same readings as theirs, and yet in that moment he had to keep going. He felt an urgent need to rejoin his people, even if only for a moment.

Suddenly, he was filled with the overwhelming desire to not be alone. The dark path he was starting down, with its endless loop of guilt, hatred, and self loathing was a familiar one. He had almost lost himself down it years before when Magog larvae infested his stomach and he didn’t have the strength or maturity to pull himself back towards the light. Rommie had helped him then, but he would be damned if he let himself lose his way again.

He climbed out of bed and rocked on the balls of his feet while he wracked his brain. He’d already heard Dylan’s pep talk. Beka was not great with big emotions, especially the negative variety. Rhade had already returned to his family. Doyle was more human that Rommie, but her emotional programming still only went so far. That left Trance. They hadn’t been close in nearly five years. She hadn’t spoken more than two words to anyone on the ship since releasing the last soldier to Tarazed hours ago, not even Dylan, which meant she probably wanted to be alone as well. Yet, he knew there was no one else on board that he would rather be with at the moment. He needed her unfailing kindness and warmth. Who better to give warmth, he thought wryly, than a sun?

*********

“Where are you going?” Rommie’s voice, stern and motherly, caught him outside the Maru’s hangar bay. He jumped and jerked around, his heart rate peaking for a moment before calming down. He was jumpy. She wasn’t the last person he wanted to see, but he also wasn’t thrilled to see her since he was currently disobeying a direct order. “I thought I told you to go back to your quarters and rest.”

“Relax Rom-Doll, I’m just going to the Maru,” he said. He threw his hands up in front of him in the classic sign of surrender. Trance hadn’t spent a lot of time on the Maru in the Seefra system, but his intuition told him that she was there today. He had to convince Rommie that he would get some rest or she was likely to personally escort him to his rooms and lock him in.

“Harper, it has been a stressful day and you have not slept in nearly twenty hours. I sent you to your quarters for a reason.” He took a deep breath and shifted his weight. In his current sleep-deprived and overly sensitive state he felt her tone bordered a bit too much on nagging and he had to bite back a childish reply.

“I know. I know. But, I can’t sleep. I tried Rommie, honest I did. The Maru was my first home away from home, maybe I will do better there.” He gave her a weak smile and shook his still raised hands. “I promise I won’t fix anything while I am there.” He watched Rommie study him, a dubious expression gracing her beautiful face when it occurred to him that she was out of place as well. “What are you doing down here, anyway?”

“I was looking for Trance. Dylan is concerned and she is… hiding.”

“Hiding?” He asked, confused. 

“Yes. I thought she was on the Maru, but I couldn’t find her. She’s masking herself from my sensors, which is not unusual for Trance, but generally she reappears far sooner. She disappeared a little over four hours ago. The last place I saw her was in the hangar bay.”

“She probably wants to spend some time alone, and after the day we’ve had, who wouldn’t? I’ll keep my eyes open.”

“You need to rest.” Her voice had softened and he realized she was going to let him go. He gave her a small, sincere, smile.

“Thanks for the concern. I can’t make any promises, but I will try,” he said sincerely.

“Please do. You are the best engineer I have ever had and I don’t want to lose you to illness. Especially not now with the Magog Worldship approaching..” Her eyes linked with his, filled with so much love and concern that it was hard to believe she wasn’t human. 

“Awe, Rom-Doll, I could practically kiss you,” he said in an attempt to diffuse the suddenly emotional situation. Her expression changed to one of exasperation.

“Harper…”

“All right, all right. I’m going.” He turned and the bay doors slid open for him with a hiss. In front of him was the Maru. Beka’s monstrosity of a ship was a dirty bronze, more boxy than anything else and pockmarked with scars from battles past. It wasn’t very big. It certainly wasn’t pretty, but for three of Andromeda’s crew, it had been a second home. Despite having access to much nicer quarters and common areas on Andromeda, he, Beka, and Trance had chosen to spend a lot of their free time on the Maru before they were separated in the Seefra system. 

Trance, especially, had liked hiding out there. She’d kept her favorite plants on the Maru, used it as a place for quiet meditation, and on occasion had still slept in the berthing area. Even in the Seefra system she’d asked Beka for permission to access the Maru and tend to her long dead garden. He had a pretty good idea of where she would be hiding, especially if she didn’t want Dylan to find her.

He knew very little about Trance’s life before the Maru, but it was clear to him after all of these years that she hadn’t had much experience living among humans and didn’t really know much about making friends. She was socially awkward, naive, and the kindest person he’d ever met. Too kind the for the universe they lived in. For a while after her change from purple to gold, he’d questioned whether her personality hadn’t just been an elaborate ruse to gain trust. Over time, the hardness in “New Trance” faded away as she relaxed into life on Andromeda, and Harper was able to see that gentleness and kindness were her true nature, while the hardness he’d perceived was the result of a loss of naivety and innocence in a future he didn’t want to contemplate. He didn’t know what had drawn her back to the Maru over and over again, but he liked to think it was the first place she’d felt like she belonged. In that way, they had something in common.

It only took him a moment to gain access to Beka’s ship. The interior was dim and steam hissed from a faulty tube he’d never actually gotten around to replacing. His boots clanked on the metal deck-plates as he crossed over to what used to be Trance’s room. Her “room” was actually the Artificial Gravity Field Control Room, but in five years, she’d left her mark. Plants rested on shelves, counters, and in hanging pots surrounded control panels and read-out displays. Large white candles with dried wax clinging to them like tears were strategically placed around the small room, and from the ceiling hung a small purple hammock. Vines even climbed up a grate in the back of the room. It smelled sweet, earthy, and alive. He marveled at Trance’s ability to create and sustain living things. For the six-weeks Beka drifted around Seefra, she had left Trance’s room exactly the way it had been, like a memorial to her lost friend, not realizing she would see her again one day. The plants had withered and died without care, but they were growing and flourishing again in a matter of weeks at Trance’s touch.

She wasn’t there, and he hadn’t expected her to be. Anyone who lived on the Maru for more than a short stint found someplace hidden where they could be alone. On such a small ship, privacy was a valuable commodity. In true Trance fashion, she’d discovered the trickiest spot on the entire ship, an old smuggling room, shielded from sensors, and hidden deep in a cargo bay, its door behind dusty and empty shelves in a tiny supply closet. Beka still didn’t know where the formerly purple girl used to hide during the six months they’d been together before Andromeda. Harper knew. He knew every hideaway and crevice, even those that he was certain Beka had never known about, or forgotten long ago. It was his job as engineer to know the ship inside and he took that part of his job seriously. How she’d found it was still a mystery. He’d only discovered its existence due to a discrepancy in the schematics. He always chalked it up to Trance’s ability to see things others could not.

He stepped into the closet that served as an entrance to the secret room. Particles of disturbed dust tickled his nose and throat. There was a neatly stacked pile of shelves in one corner, and bit of light flickered behind a crack in the wall, so faint that if you didn’t know what you were looking for you would likely miss it. With a deep breath and a sigh he quelled his fears that she might turn him away and knocked gently on the door.

“Harper?” she asked, her voice soft and muffled through the door.

“Yeah, it’s me. Lemme in.” Before Andromeda, he had visited her here many times, sometimes bringing treats when she was hiding away from Beka’s guests or an inevitable scolding for trouble she had caused, either alone or, more likely, with his help. Once, a couple months after joining the crew, she’d hidden down there for an entire day and night after shorting the artificial gravity field. Beka had been beside herself with worry and ordered Rev and Harper to search every corner of the Maru, afraid something had happened to her. That’s when he’d discovered where her secret spot was. He’d promised her then that he wouldn’t tell Beka or bother her if she truly wanted to be alone. She had never once turned him away.

The door slid open, filling the closet with a dim and flickering light. He ducked under a very small doorway into a room lit by four large white candles, one in each corner. It wasn’t a very large room, just six steps long and four steps wide, so long as your legs weren’t exceptionally long. The walls, made out of some pewter colored material that was difficult for sensors to penetrate, were stained with dust and smoke. On a fold up mattress, laid against the back wall, surrounded by shimmering blankets and beautifully embroidered pillows was Trance, back against the wall, legs pulled up to her chest, her arms hugging them tightly. She was wearing the same fitted blue tunic and black pants she’d had on earlier. Her head rested on her knees. Her eyes, framed by curls, studied him as he moved into her realm. She looked so small and so young that he could almost see the girl who’d first become his best friend years before despite her now golden skin. A miniature rose bush with delicate pink petals and a purple orchid sat in decorative pots before her. Plants from Earth, he noted.

He closed the door behind him and sunk to the floor across from her, resting his back against the wall, legs stretched out in a V before him. He patted his legs with his hands nervously and gave her a weak smile. She returned it. Her eyes were red and swollen, and her cheeks streaked with drying tears. Here they were, back in her hiding spot, just like old times, yet nothing was the same. He had changed. She had changed more than anyone should in a lifetime. He barely knew her anymore. But she had let him in. It was an opening, a new beginning.

It pained him to think about what they had lost. He could blame her. After all, she had been so busy tailing Dylan and making plans to defeat the Abyss that she hadn’t had much time to work on their friendship, but that wasn’t fair to her. He hadn’t really gone out of his way to sustain things either. He’d let their friendship fall by the wayside, even after their bond had been all but repaired, because he wasn’t sure how to handle his feelings towards “New Trance”. He thought he might have loved her in her purple iteration, but was afraid to see if he could fall in love with the new her as well. And now, she wasn’t even “New Trance” anymore. In many ways, she was much more like her purple self than the golden warrior who’d come back to this timeline to save them all. It was really past time to mend fences, he thought.

“I’m sorry about Earth,” she said. “I knew her, she was beautiful.” That Earth had an avatar was news to him, but it wasn’t surprising. He didn’t really want to talk about Earth, though, so he said simply,

“Yeah... so did I.” Trance blinked away a few tears. “Are you okay?” he asked. She gave him another small shadow of a smile and shrugged her shoulders.

“Yes. No. What kind of answer do you want? I feel everything and I do not wish to feel anything.”

He took a deep breath and tapped the back of his head against the wall a couple of times. 

“Yeah. Me too.”

They sat in silence, neither one willing to break it. Their shared pain hung between them, its presence palpable, but the burden somehow less because they were together. She stared past him, eyes unfocused. He closed his eyes, feeling calm for the first time in hours, her presence acting as a security blanket. He closed his eyes and felt the fog of sleep surround him. He let it overtake him.

Soft muffled sobs pulled him out of the comfortable darkness.

“Trance?” he asked. She was still in the same position, but her face was now buried in her knees and her shoulders shook with each sob. She looked up at him, an expression of such pain on her face that he felt his heart breaking for her.

“I didn’t mean to wake you,” she said through her tears.

“No, it’s ok. I don’t need sleep anyway. Cramps my style,” he replied. He sat up straighter, stretching his stiff back. “How long was I out?”

“Maybe an hour? A bit less?” She shrugged her shoulders. He watched her try and collect herself. A nagging thought that something was very wrong began to tug at him. She seemed different. The way she was sitting, as if trying to disappear. The way her brow wrinkled in pain as if she had a headache. The dark circles beneath her eyes, looking almost like bruises.

“Trance, you know that what happened, to Earth, wasn’t your fault, right?” he asked, watching her closely.

“I ran away from my people. If I had stayed… maybe…” Her voice cracked and she made a sound in the back of her throat as if she were clearing it before continuing. “Maybe if I had stayed I could have seen what was happening and stopped it. All those people. She loved her people.” Leave it to Trance to blame herself. She seemed to fold into herself even more, arching her shoulders as she hugged her legs even tighter. Her shivering worsened.

“How long have you been in here?” he asked.

“About three hours,” she whispered. He pulled himself up onto his knees and leaned forward, locking his eyes with hers. Her numbers didn’t match up with Rommie’s. Fear began to take hold, spiking his heart rate, though he couldn't identify what it was he feared.

“I ran into Rommie right before I came in. She was looking for you. Said you disappeared from her sensors four hours earlier.” He raised his eyebrows willing her to hear the unasked question. He saw her eyes flicker. She looked down at her knees and then up again at him. He knew that look. She was debating whether to open up to him.

“Trance, something is wrong, isn’t it?”

“I…” she stopped to clear her throat again. Her voice was hoarse. Was it because she had been crying, or something else? “I had to go back to the Nebula, they were calling me home. They punished me…” She stopped mid-sentence, unwilling or unable to finish. His heart thumped harder against his chest.

“Why did you go back? Weren't your people doing the not so lovingly deceased Red-eyes’ evil bidding?” She opened her mouth and closed it again, pressing her lips tightly together. Her hands clenched and unclenched into fists. She was fighting an emotional battle he couldn't read.

“I had to,” she replied breathlessly. She unfolded and stretched out her legs, pressing her back against the wall. Her eyes narrowed in sudden, severe, pain. She grunted and bit her lip. He could see her chest heaving as she tried to catch her breath. Still she shivered, her entire body shaking now. “They rule the universe. They are so much stronger than me. If... If I had not come at their call, they would have come after all of you. I couldn't… I couldn't bear that.”

He lunged forward as her eyes began to lose focus. She started to cough, deep crooping coughs with gasping breaths between, the kind of cough he knew from experience hurt your chest and made you see stars.

“Trance, stay with me!” He grabbed her by the shoulders and squeezed. Her eyes cleared and she recoiled as if his touch hurt her, but quickly relaxed, leaning into him. 

“I am so cold. It hurts so much.” She whispered. He could feel the heat of her skin through the thick fabric of her tunic. Up close, pearls of sweat beaded along her hairline. She'd always been warm to the touch, but this was too warm. He pressed a hand to her forehead and had to stop himself from jerking it back violently as her skin burned his. She focused on him with fearful eyes begging for help without saying anything. “What'd they do to you?” He asked, not really expecting an answer as he wrapped his arm tightly around her waist and gently prodded her forward. She rose to her feet on shaking legs allowing him to support most of her weight as he pulled her towards the door. He had to get her out of this room where he could call for help.

“They took away everything.” she said.

“Come on, we need to get you to med deck. What do you mean they took away everything?” Keep her talking. Keep her awake until help got there. Why hadn’t she said something sooner? 

“I am like you now,” she explained between labored breaths. He got her outside into the darkened cargo bay and together they sank to the deck plates. He felt her convulse in his arms as another violent coughing fit wracked her body. She made a noise that was a cross between a gasp and a sob and grabbed his arm, her fingers digging in. 

“Shh, shh. It's okay. I’m gonna call for help. It’s gonna be ok. It has to be. It has to be. Just stay with me Trance,” he ordered, voice edging towards frantic. He helped her lay down, head and shoulders cradled in his lap. With one hand he smoothed her hair back the way she had for him so many times through so many different illnesses and with his other he dug out his comm device. The tension bled out of her body suddenly and her eyes closed. Now unconscious, she had stopped shivering. Her every breath was a struggle. He realized, then, that he was shaking, terrified it might already be too late for help.

*****

Captain Dylan Hunt, pride of the High Guard, apparent savior of the Known Worlds, lay awake on his bed, staring at the ceiling in his darkened room. Around him were his favorite possessions, hardly visible in the glow of the night lights. Most were 300-year-old relics ranging from pieces of art, to literature. Some of them were gifts, others he picked up along the way. They were displayed, museum-like, around the room. Remnants of the old Commonwealth, something he missed more than ever today.

Today’s events had been both spectacular and horrifying, and he knew that, like him, each of his crew was left wrestling with how to feel. He had a lot to be grateful for. Tarn Vedra was once again a part of the Known Worlds. Reports showed that temperatures across the planet were already dropping and good, clean, rain was falling everywhere. Trance’s sun was already nurturing it back to the great planet it once was.

The Abyss was gone. The fledgling Commonwealth was safe. His mission lived to see another day. There was much to celebrate. But, and he hated that there was always a ‘but’, the Magog were still on their way. Trance had given most of her substance to stop them, and it hadn’t been enough. The Lambent Kith Nebula was still out there, separated from the Abyss, but still dangerous. His poor crew had been through enough emotional trauma in one day to keep an entire fleet of psychologists busy for years, let alone what they had endured in their years trapped in the Seefra System. They had won, but this battle had not ended the war.

He sat up, restless and worried. According to Andromeda, an hour ago Harper still wasn’t resting. During the Nietzschean battle he’d kept up his bravado, but Dylan also knew that Harper’s bravado was a clever shield to keep others from prying into his deepest and darkest thoughts and feelings. Harper’s strength and resilience was something to behold, but having his entire planet destroyed with everyone on it right before his eyes was going to take more than a pep talk on the deck plates to help him process it. The kid wasn’t even thirty yet and he’d suffered more than most would in an entire lifetime. Harper hadn’t come out unscathed, but he’d come out of it with his heart mostly in the right place.

And then there was Trance. As of an hour ago, she still hadn’t been located. It wasn’t entirely unusual for her to disappear, especially not lately, but he was concerned this time. She’d begun to withdraw into herself once her work was complete. She hadn’t spoken to anyone after patching up Rhade and his crew, choosing to spend her time alone in the hydroponics bays before vanishing from sensors about five and a half hours ago. He felt responsible. He shouldn’t have left her to figure things out on her own. Now he had no idea where she was.

In a way, she had lost her entire world as well. The Lambent Kith, rulers of the celestial bodies of the universe, had turned against her and joined with the darkness they were supposed to protect against. She would never rejoin her people. With only the company of organics, she would live beside them, but not as one of them, watching everyone she loved and cared about grow old and die. Their lifespans a merely the blink of an eye compared to hers. That lonely cycle would repeat itself over and over again. That was her best case scenario. He didn’t even want to think about what the worst case. The Nebula was simply too powerful for him to contemplate.

“Dylan.” He jumped as Andromeda’s hologram appeared before him. He sat up straighter.

“Andromeda. Yes?” He asked, taking a breath to tame the adrenaline. She stood tall beside his bed in her sleeveless commonwealth uniform, arms held behind her back and face the picture of professionalism.

“I am sensing two life signs on the Eureka Maru. One of them belongs to Harper. The other to belongs to… Trance.” He climbed out of bed, already mostly dressed in sweatpants and a tank top and started rooting around for his jacket. The lights in his room brightened automatically.

“Good. Can you tell her to meet me…”

“Dylan,” Andromeda interrupted. He paused, jacket in hand to look at the hologram.  
“What?”

“Trance isn’t supposed to have life signs. Not like these, and they are weak.” Before he had time to really process the meaning of Andromeda’s words his comm burst to life, emitting the panicked voice of his engineer.

“Dylan, this is Harper. I am in the cargo bay of the Maru and something is seriously wrong with Trance. She needs help, fast. Really fast.” Dylan looked up at Andromeda who nodded and disappeared. He pressed the comm.

“Harper, Rommie is on her way. I’ll meet you on Med Deck.”

“Please, just hurry,” Dylan dropped his jacket and took off at a sprint out the door. Why was there always another shoe to drop?


	2. Will to Live

Dylan arrived in Med Deck in time to see Rommie laying Trance gently down a bed. Harper beside her. Without missing a beat, despite being visibly out of breath, Harper began setting up equipment, while Rommie silently gathered medical instruments, nano injectors, and medications. Harper took two medical sensors and carefully attached them to the exposed skin on Trance's chest. Readouts of Trance’s condition appeared on the screen next to her bed. The girl was still save for the uneven rising and falling of her chest. He could hear her wheezing as he moved closer to the bed. Dark circles stretched out beneath her eyes and her normally radiant skin was dull and sallow. Her red curls splayed across the pillow like a crown.

“Patient condition critical. Blood oxygen at 60%. Temperature 46 degrees. Heart rate 130 bpm. Respiration uneven and labored. Brain activity appears normal, but there is severe swelling around the brain...” Andromeda said, beginning a running report on Trance’s vitals.

“Harper, I would advise against touching Trance’s bare skin right now. At this temperature, prolonged contact will cause burns,” Rommie said as Harper reached out for Trance’s hand. The boy pulled back his hand took a step towards the head of the bed and instead rested it on her clothed shoulder. Rommie worked around him easily, her movements decisive, her programming overriding the concern Dylan knew she felt for her friend. With a few taps, she programmed some nanobots and injected them into Trance’s system and very quickly followed with a milky white medication.

“Respiration stabilizing,” Andromeda announced a moment later. Trances chest began to rise and fall more steadily. “Pulse oxygen now at 65%”

“What can you tell me, Rommie?” He asked as she ran a scanner over Trance’s entire body, Med Deck’s harsh lighting gleaming off of it. He had spent this last year helping a frightened and confused Trance sort through her memories and figure out who she was. He had given her his strength so she would have the courage to do what needed to be done. He was her protector, destined to be so if the legends were to be believed. This situation felt like personal a failure. Trance had in turns been his conscience, counselor, friend, and charge. What if he lost her? What if they all lost her, he thought, seeing Harper standing there beside her bed, more still than he’d ever seen him, with one hand touching her as if to make sure she didn’t vanish in front of him the way his homeworld had.

“She’s sick,” she replied matter-of-factly. It was the android’s way of putting him off because she didn’t have any answers to give, but that didn’t stop him from pressing further.

“I can see that, Rommie. Why is she sick? How?” Rommie glanced at a readout and her eyes slipped out of focus for a brief moment as they often did when she was searching her databases and making calculations.

“I do not know the how,” Rommie said, looking directly at him, “but, I assume the why is because her immune system appears to be consistent with that of a newborn infant.” That didn’t quell his need for information, but he could tell he wasn’t going to get anything more from Rommie and she had a job to do, so he turned to his engineer.

“Harper, come with me for a moment.” The younger man looked up at him, a shell-shocked expression on his face. He hesitated, looking down at Trance and then up again at Dylan. “It will only be a moment. Let’s give Rommie some space to work.” Harper nodded, gave Trance’s shoulder a squeeze before followed Dylan to Trance’s normal workstation along the wall. Neatly organized boxes, each labeled with their contents, lined a brightly lit countertop. A couple of leafy plants added color to the sterile environment. Monitors flashed with charts and diagrams, evidence of Trance's earlier work.

“What’s up boss?” Harper asked, not looking at Dylan, his eyes still fixed on Trance’s motionless form. A new worry suddenly gripped Dylan. What if Rommie couldn’t save Trance? Could losing her, someone who had been Harper’s best friend, be the straw that broke the proverbial camel’s back?

_Don’t worry about that, it isn’t going to happen._

“Can you tell me what happened? Did she say anything?” he asked. He kept his voice level and calm despite a desire to interrogate him, extract every bit of information he could. Information was power and right now he was feeling pretty damn powerless.

Harper remained silent. Not in obstinacy, Dylan understood, but from the sheer weight of the situation. He grabbed Harper's arm and gave what he hoped was a comforting squeeze. Harper finally turned to look at him but remained silent.

“Let's start with why she was in the cargo bay and why Andromeda’s sensors couldn't find her. You knew where she would be,” Dylan said. A shadow of a smile crossed the Harper's face, the ghost of a pleasant memory quickly erased and replaced by a frown.

“There is an old smuggling closet down there. She used to hide down there before we found Andromeda. Even Beka doesn't know where it is, but I guess the gig is up now. She’ll have to find a new spot. I mean, if…”

A shrill and insistent alarm sounded. It rang in Dylan’s ears. He felt his breath catch. Harper jumped and tensed, his attention once again focused on the two women across the room.

“Heart rate and blood pressure are dropping rapidly.” Andromeda announced, “Cardiovascular failure imminent.”

“That did not work the way it was supposed to,” Rommie stated, frustration lacing her voice. Harper tensed. Rommie moved quickly to program and inject more bots.

“Sinus rhythm irregular. Cardiovascular functions failing,” Andromeda reported. The alarm continued its persistent cry.

“Shut up!” Rommie snapped at herself. Faster than humanly possible the Android injected Trance with a clear medication and then pressed a pair of pen-like defibrillators to Trance's chest. Her back arched as the electrical current ran through her. There was a beat, a moment of silence in which Dylan closed his eyes and held his breath. Then, amazingly, the alarm shut off and he could hear a steady beeping on the vitals monitor indicating that Trance’s heart was beating like it was supposed to.

“Sinus rhythm restored.”

“Well, that’s something,” Rommie said.

 

Dylan heard Harper exhale heavily. He studied his engineer’s face, so full of sadness and unmasked anxiety. “I need you to tell me everything. It might help her.”

“She can’t die. Tell me she won’t die.”

Dylan rubbed his face with his hands. “I can’t tell you that. I really wish I could.”

Harper turned towards him again. “No. I know you can’t, but I need to hear it right now. She didn’t say much, you know Trance. She said she went home because her people were calling and she was afraid they would come after us. She said they punished her. She said they took everything, that she was like me now.”

Rage flared inside Dylan. Her people had done this to her. 

“Like you. Like me. Organic. Damn them,” he said, his sudden anger clear in his tone. Her own people had done this to her. The Lambent Kith Nebula, a people meant to represent all the light in the Universe, had issued her a slow death sentence as an organic.

“That’s the conclusion I came to as well.”

“Is that everything? You’re sure there was nothing more.”

“We didn’t exactly have time to chat while she was struggling to breathe,” Harper snapped. Dylan stepped in front of him so that they were face to face and put a hand on each shoulder, not in the least bit fazed or upset by the younger man’s angry outburst. He had been through so much in one day.

“I understand. Thank you for telling me, and thank you for being there for her,” he said sincerely. Harper didn’t respond. “One more question, please.” Harper nodded. “How long were you down there?”

“An hour, maybe a little longer.” Dylan lifted his hands and Harper moved back to Trance’s bedside without saying another word. Rommie didn’t acknowledge his presence, but kept working, focused on the job at hand. Dylan moved over and stopped a few steps away from the bed. Rommie put down her equipment and stood beside Trance, looking down at her. Her chest continued to rise and fall evenly and her heart rate beeped rhythmically on the monitor. She was stable, for now.

“Rommie, Trance has been organic for no more than five hours. How did she get so sick so quickly? “ He asked, trusting that Andromeda had been listening in on his conversation with Harper.

“I try to keep my air and surfaces clean, but I can’t catch every virus or bacteria that comes on-board and I have no control over those on the Eureka Maru. This virus has a very short incubation period in general, but would not have affected a human, even one with a weak immune system,” at this she gave Harper a significant look, “as more than a minor annoyance. In Trance it is thriving. Her new organic physiology is similar to a human’s in many ways, but she is decidedly not human.”

A new alarm, less insistent than the first, sounded. An image of what Dylan assumed was Trance’s brain appeared on the screen, readouts that he could not understand surrounding it. Rommie’s face fell. A very human expression.

“What’s going on?” Harper asked desperately.

“I haven’t been able to reduce Trance’s fever. I estimate that her body temperature should actually be somewhere around 39 degrees. At 46 it is dangerously high. It has caused severe widespread swelling around her brain. While I am not seeing any obvious brain damage, she has slipped into a coma.”

Harper made a strangled sound that could have been no or another negative exclamation, Dylan couldn’t quite make it out.

“Please, Rommie, there has to be something you can do,” he begged. No innuendo. No pet names. Just a man asking for the impossible. Rommie’s response was filled with the same anger and frustration Dylan felt right now.

“I don’t know what else to try. Her respiration is being sustained by nanobots at the moment, as is her heart rate. I tried bringing her heart rate down with medication earlier since she was not getting enough oxygen, but the small dose I used nearly sent her into cardiac arrest, which makes me reluctant to try other medications. I’ve deployed anti-viral nanobots, but they are barely making a difference in the number of viruses in her system. I don’t have the instincts of an organic physician to guess what is safe to try and what isn’t. I think the only thing we can do now is keep her as stable as possible and allow her to fight off the virus on her own. It’s up to Trance now whether she will live or die.”

Rommie reached up and placed a hand on Trance’s forehead tenderly. Trance was her friend. He remembered Rommie once telling him that they should have maintained a professional distance from the crew, that they were both too emotionally involved. He knew these tough emotions were hard on her, a warship who was accustomed to having a clear enemy that she could attack with state of the art arsenal. He felt much the same. He also knew that for both of them, the benefits of becoming friends far outweighed the drawbacks.

“I can say that if she recovers, her immune system will get stronger over time. She does not lack one, it is simply immature.”

“Well, that is hopeful, at least,” Dylan said.

“There is nothing more we can do here. You need to rest,” Rommie said, turning to Harper with a look of concern.

“I’m not leaving her.” He replied. Rommie withdrew from Trance’s bedside and moved to the workstation, pulling out some medication and programming an injector. She moved back to Harper and gently steered him to another bed a few feet away from Trance’s.

“You can take this bed. I am going to give you something to help you sleep. You are no good to anyone, especially not Trance, dead on your feet.” Defeated, Harper nodded and climbed onto the bed Rommie indicated. She pressed the injector to his wrist and he closed his eyes. He was asleep in less than a minute. Dylan took in the scene before him and it struck him how young they both were. He knew Trance’s years had to number in the billions, yet he also knew without a doubt, and without knowing how he knew, that while her sun was the oldest and brightest, her avatar was barely more than a child.

“So young,” he said. Rommie walked over to him and put a hand on his arm.

“They are both fighters and survivors. They have proved it to us on numerous occasions,”

“I hope you are right.”

“Captain,” Andromeda’s hologram said, appearing before him, “the First Triumvir is contacting you in regards to the Magog Worldship.”

Dylan felt the weight of his exhaustion and stress pressing down on him, threatening his composure. With a sigh, he replied, “Send the communique to my quarters. I will be there in a moment.”

“Aye captain.” The hologram disappeared. He turned to Rommie.

“If there is nothing more you can do here but monitor her, I am going to send Doyle down. I need you in Command while Beka sleeps. After speaking with the Triumvir, I am going to try and get some rest myself.”

“Dylan, shouldn’t we tell her what has happened?”

“We will, as soon as she wakes up. She needs to sleep now.”

“Understood. Captain, the faster you get this meeting over with, the faster you can get some rest yourself.”

“Right.” He silently looked over med deck once more as Andromeda dimmed the lights and turned his back to his youngest and most vulnerable crew members. Time would tell how strong both their wills to live were.


	3. The Chambers

Beka hated hospitals. They reminded her of bad times, of losing the people she loved. She could still see the stark white walls of the cheap backwater hospital she had taken her father to towards the end, spending far too much for far too little care. The air had smelled of medicine and something rancid. He’d been a shadow of himself then, lying under a crisp white sheet, connected to a half a dozen monitors by a maze of wires. She alone sat by his side, her brother off somewhere causing trouble. She could no longer remember his excuses. It happened so long ago, but somehow it was the first image she saw whenever she conjured up memories of her father. She had vowed to never step foot in a hospital again unless she was dying.

And yet, here she was, sitting stiffly on a stool next to Trance’s sickbed on something that seemed far too much like a death watch for her liking. Andromeda had explained everything to her moments after she’d awakened from a sleep that hadn't lasted last nearly long enough. Eyes still heavy and brain filled with fog, she’d listened to Andromeda's clinical description of Trance's condition. It hadn't left much room for hope. She had cursed the AI, demanding to know why no one had come to get her in her quarters on Andromeda where she'd gone to sleep undisturbed in case Harper decided to make repairs on the Maru. She knew deep down that she was not being fair to the AI, that there was nothing she could have done to help, but Andromeda was a convenient target for the whirlwind of emotions swirling inside. Andromeda hadn’t taken it personally, offering instead to let Doyle know she was on her way.

Beka leaned forward and ran her fingers through Trance’s hair, now loosened by Rommie or Doyle from its typical updo to spread across the pillow. She stopped, elbows on the bed, allowing her fingers to remain entwined in her friends red curls. Holding the girl’s hand was out of the question, her fever was too high. She could feel the heat radiating off Trance’s skin, warming the air around her. Her cheeks were flushed a bright red, as if she’d spent too much time in the sun, and sweat glistened on her forehead. Beka willed her to open her eyes, to move, anything to show there was still life inside of her, but her friend remained motionless. 

In the lines of the girl’s face Beka could see Trance as she was the day they'd met, a young girl with purple skin and short blonde hair, too gentle and innocent for the harsh environment that surrounded her. Beka could see the hope in that young girl’s dark eyes, hope that Beka was her path to a better future. She saw Trance as she was before Seefra, a young warrior who remained cautiously hopeful despite the darkness surrounding her, always there to offer kind and encouraging words. She saw Trance as she had been a just few short months ago. They’d danced together on the Maru in the midst of an almost apocalypse. Trance had been hesitant at first, but humored her friend, seeming to know that it was what Beka needed at that moment. Trance always knew what others needed. She had smiled so beautifully after the embarrassment faded away, spinning around and around the galley at Beka’s lead, her curls flying behind her.

“Oh Trance, it’s far too early for you to leave this party. Things are just starting to get fun,” Beka said, recalling their conversation that day, hoping that somewhere deep inside Trance could hear her. Trance had said that day that she didn’t think she could die, not like humans did. As it turns out, she could. “I’m not ready for you to go yet.” 

Beka felt a warm hand on her back and out of the corner of her eye saw Doyle, dressed in a pair of soft black leather pants and a fitted beige blouse, somewhat more conservative than her normal clothing, crouch down beside her.

“She’s still alive, Beka. There is hope.” she said, her voice filled with compassion.

“For how long?” she asked. She didn’t know why it was always so hard for her to see the silver lining. Another personal failing for Beka Valentine. Another reason she needed Trance.

“Hopefully for a long time yet. Her temperature is down two degrees. She is fighting.” Doyle stood up and grabbed a soft grey cloth from a nearby cart. She moved around the bed so she was standing across from Beka. With an expression of utmost caring she reached out and began to wipe the sweat from Trance’s forehead. Catching Beka’s eyes she held the cloth out to her. Beka took it. She would never tell Harper directly, but she was in awe of his skills. Doyle was so human in so many ways. Beka could even see the worry lines on her forehead as she studied Trance’s vitals.

“Thanks, Doyle,” Beka said, taking over the task. Doyle bowed her head slightly and without saying anything more crossed the room to stand beside its fourth occupant, a sleeping Harper. She put the cloth down on the cart, allowing her gaze to follow the other women. Beka watched the android place her hands on the bed beside Harper, watching as he slept. “When will he be awake?”

“Approximately seven hours. Rommie gave him enough sedative to knock him out for twelve. She knew he would not rest again easily once he woke up. I agree with her. He is going to keep himself busy, for better or for worse,” Doyle replied.

“That sounds like Harper. When the dust settles, if we all survive, what happened to Earth is going to hit him hard.” She left off that things would be far worse if Trance did not pull through. Beka had seen Harper crash a few times in the years he’d been with her. She feared that too much more would cause him to withdraw so far inside himself that no one would ever reach the true Harper again.

“He will need all of us, his friends,” Doyle said, crossing back over to Trance’s bed. Beka allowed her gaze to fall once again on Trance’s face.

“Trance used to be his best friend, before Seefra and the Abyss,” she said, more to herself than Doyle. She put the cloth back down on the bedside cart.

“Yes, I know. Harper told me.” Doyle too was now looking at Trance, her expression unreadable, but kind. Beka knew that Doyle was still trying to figure out where she belonged in the lives and hearts of Andromeda’s crew. 

“Doyle, I heard once that people in comas could still think and even hear what was being said around them. What do you think?” Doyle smiled sympathetically, her gaze meeting Beka’s.

“I think the only person who has ever known what is going on inside Trance’s mind is Trance, but it doesn’t hurt to try.” Doyle’s eyes lost focus and she stood perfectly still. Beka tensed up, waiting to hear Doyle’s message.

“That was Rommie. You are needed in Command. Tarazed is sending a few hundred crewmembers and she needs your help preparing for them. She would rather not wake Dylan as he just fell asleep.”

“Right. I’m on my way.” Beka stood. Unfortunately, as bad as things were, Trance and Harper were the least of her worries with the Magog World Ship so close. She reached out and took Trance’s hand into hers, the heat searing her palm. She gave it a quick squeeze before letting it drop. The heat lingered on her skin.

“Trance, if you can hear me, please find your way back to us. We need you. I need you,” she said before turning away thinking that, in a way, it was a minor mercy her friend would not be awake tio face the Magog in her now more vulnerable state.

**********

“Trance, why do you sit alone in the dark?” Trance heard the familiar male voice break through the silence, but could not see from where it came. The darkness that surrounded her was absolute. There was no light, and no shadows. She scanned it with her eyes all the same, but did not move from her position, sitting with her knees pulled up to her chest, arms hugging them like a small child hugged a stuffed toy.

“How is it you are here? I am no longer Kith,” she replied, her voice hardly above a whisper.

“You did not answer my question.”

“Darkness is all I see. It has defeated me.” This darkness was a lonely place, but a comfortable one. Before he had interrupted, there had been no sound save for her breathing. There was no physical pain. Her head no longer felt as if it were splitting apart molecule by molecule. Wrapped up in its cloak she was able to forget what had happened. If she could just stay here, she would never feel pain like that again. She would never have to face life as an organic. She would never have to watch her friends come to harm because she could not protect them the way she used to. “Now, will you answer my question?”

“You and I, born into this universe from the same energy at the same moment, share a bond that even the Nebula cannot remove. They do not understand. Most of them were created, not born. Their failing is our benefit.”

“If you don’t mind,” she said, raising her chin up to show a confidence she did not feel, “I would rather be alone right now.” A light appeared before her, dim at first, but growing brighter until she could see standing some distance away a man who, aside from his masculine features, was a mirror image of herself. Floating in front of him, casting shadows on his face, was a small sun. His sun. His posture and expression were serene, but in his eyes reflected a great sadness.

“I do mind. I will not leave you alone, Trance Gemini. There is always light so long as there is hope.” She met his gaze.

“Do you truly believe that, today of all days, Sol Gemini?” He took a step closer to her. He wore a pair of loose fitted brown trousers and knee length square-necked tunic, cream colored and embroidered with Earth cranes.

“I do.”

“Then perhaps I have lost hope. The Abyss has taken your beautiful wife from you. It has taken billions of the people you nourished and gave life to for hundreds of thousands of years. Though it is dead it has irreparably corrupted our ruling council. There is no hope.” Her voice, still low, was as hard as her words. Sadness overtook his features. He moved closer until he was only a step away and knelt down in front of her. His sun floated between them. He reached out and placed a loving hand on her cheek. His touch was warm and comforting, but she did not lean into it.

“You my twin, the brightest of all the stars, the Fire Princess, the one born to rule over the all the celestial bodies of the universe, how can you ever lose hope?” The emotional pain she had been able to forget in the darkness came rushing back at his words. Tears welled up in her eyes. She swallowed a sob that threatened to break free.

“I am none of those things anymore, and I never will be again. The Nebula was given too much power because the Vedrans and the Paradine believed them incorruptible. Our one perfect possible future is lost.” He pulled his hand away from her face and grabbed her hands. He stood, pulling her with him. She did not resist.

“Come with me, sister.” The darkness melted away, replaced by a light so bright she had to blink several times to see. They were on a hillside overlooking a flowering meadow. In the distance a gleaming city stood, looking as if it were grown from the land itself. White stone glimmered from beneath curtains of leafy ivy. A road paved with jewel colored stones stretched out in front of her. She knew that in that city a people as colorful as the flowers in meadow before her dwelled, the physical embodiments of all the planets, moons, suns, and black holes. This was the homeworld of the Lambent Kith where those who wanted to spend time with one another in physical form, eating, drinking, and creating, were free to do so apart from organics.

Trance didn’t have to turn around to know that behind her stood an ancient and imposing building, stark white and shining brightly under the light of two suns. No greenery was allowed to overtake this building. It was a hard place built entirely of stone, all soaring columns and graceful archways. The Chambers, it was called. Here was where the Lambent Kith Nebula, Council of Moons, and System of Planets met to govern the cosmos and mete out judgements.

“Why have you brought me back here?” she asked. Her voice was full of anger, though she felt small and afraid more than anything else. Her twin remained calm.

“You choose not to face what has happened. You must remember and accept it, or you will disappear.”

"I can not live through this again." She kept her gaze on her twin. She refused to turn around and see The Chambers, just as she had refused to dwell on it during her time alone on the Maru as she felt her new, weaker body sicken moment by moment until she could feel fire radiating from her skin and ice in her blood. Until her physical pain matched the anguish in her heart. 

“If you do not face it, you will not live.” Still she watched him, unmoving. If the Nebula knew he was in contact with her right now, he would be punished harshly. She was taboo. No one was allowed to contact her, not even her twin. Being male, his punishment would be death. No leniency would be given. “Perhaps it would be better if I disappeared. I hurt everyone close to me. I destroy them.”

A flash of anger crossed Sol’s face. She had seen him angry many times in their long lives, but his anger had never been directed at her, no matter how much she had pushed and prodded him in their chaos loving childhood years. She took a step back, pulling her hand out of his. The anger of a sun was always fearsome to behold.

“What of your friends, Trance? Your protector? Me? Will we hurt less with your passing?” The tears she had been holding back began to fall.

“I do not know, but I know I will no longer hurt anymore, and I will no longer have to see them hurt because of my actions or inaction,” she whispered, the truth spilling out.

“I never would have imagined you capable of such selfishness. Your flaw, Trance Gemini, is that you give up too easily. Whenever you cannot see the answer, whenever things get too tough, or when it hurts too much, you run away." His words mirrored those Dylan had repeated to her on multiple occasions before Seefra.

“Do you know the danger you are in at this very moment just by speaking to me? If the Nebula discovers you are here, you will die.” Her tone was sharp with anger to mask how much his words stung. His countenance softened again, the anger replaced once more by sorrow.

“If I cared about the danger, I would not be here. The Universe will not be better off without you,” he said gently. “I would not be better off without you.” 

“My life will be but a moment compared to yours. I am no more than a mayfly, here today and gone tomorrow.” He stepped forward and pulled her into an embrace. She rested her head on his shoulder, her tears soaking into his tunic. His arms held her tightly and she clung to him, desperate not to let him go. How she had missed him on this journey, even when she did not remember his name or face.

“That much is true, but I would not take a moment less with you,” he said and kissed the top of her head. “The Abyss took my beautiful Gaia. The only solace I can find in it is that so many of her children had already taken to the stars. I do not want to lose you as well so soon. Being here could bring me harm, but your loss would hurt me more. I know it is the same for your friends and protector.”

With a great deal of effort, she pulled herself away from him so she could look into his eyes.

“I am so sorry, brother.” He reached out and took her hands in his again.

“You cannot lose hope, sister.” She took a deep breath. She was terrified and shaking, but she knew he was right. He usually was.

“I don’t know what to do. I am afraid.” Sol dropped her hands, reached out, and gently turned her around until she was facing the chambers. He stood behind her now, hands gently pressing down on her shoulders. His touch calmed and comforted her. As a part of the Nebula she had been permitted very little contact with him, or anyone else dear to her, in an attempt to cure her of her inability to conform and be of one mind with them; one of the harshest punishments out of the many she’d received at their hands.

“You must enter The Chambers now and face what you fear the most.” He gave her shoulders a squeeze. “Do not give up. Do not hide from the truth. And, know this, you are not alone in opposing the Nebula.”

“Will you come with me?” she asked.

“This is something you must do alone, I cannot come with you. I hope to see you again soon, my sister.” He squeezed her shoulders one more time and then the weight of his hands was gone and she knew he was no longer with her. She closed her eyes and took a deep, calming breath.

“Here goes nothing,” she whispered, something Harper used to say when he was about to do something incredibly risky or unpleasant.

*************************

“Good morning, sleepyhead.” Harper opened his eyes to see Doyle’s face a few inches away from his, a soft smile on the gorgeous full lips he had given her. He smiled back, sleepily.

“I could get used to waking up like this every morning,” he said with a wink. Doyle rolled her eyes,

“You’ll just have to learn to live with the disappointment of waking up alone,” she said and stood up. As the fog of sleep lifted, the room around him came into focus. Med Deck, not his quarters, the Maru, or his machine shop. He remembered that Rommie had sedated him, and a good thing too, he had to admit as he realized he felt more rested than he had in days. Rommie, as usual, knew best. Why did he always argue with her? Oh, right, he liked to argue.

He sat up slowly, ignoring the protest of his very stiff back.

“One day, Doyle.” He gave her a flirtatious smile. He was glad for Doyle’s steady presence, lending a sense of normalcy to the situation. With legs hanging over the side of the bed, he stretched his back, lifting his arms high in the air. He brought them down and clasped them behind his head as he twisted to one side, held for a beat, and twisted to the other. A large yawn escaped his lips. He kept his eyes on Doyle, choosing not to face present circumstances, even if just for a moment.

“One day you will find a nice girl to settle down with and leave me alone.”

“You think you can get rid of me that easily?” he asked. She shrugged, still smiling a flirtatious smile. “How long was I out for?”

“Twelve hours and nine-minutes. You needed the sleep.” His gaze finally fell on the figure across the room and his smile fell. Doyle followed his gaze.

“Her fever has dropped a couple of degrees, but otherwise no change,” she reported. Harper could see the concern in Doyle’s face. The android and the girl had become quick friends. It could have been because the part of Doyle that was Rommie at the time remembered Trance, but, more likely, it was because it was easy to befriend Trance, always so disarming and unfailingly friendly. He pushed off the bed crossed the room to Trance’s bedside. He felt Doyle step in beside him.

“What kind of cruel cosmic joke is it that after three-years mourned and gone she comes back into my life only to be taken away again a year later?” he asked, voice louder and more venomous than he intended. “I didn’t want to get close enough to any of them to be hurt again, especially not Trance, but I did. The universe is just laughing it up at the expense of Seamus Harper.” Doyle wrapped an arm around his shoulder.

“Harper, she was your best friend. I am not organic, and I haven’t had many friends, but I would venture to guess that those feelings don’t just go away, even if the situation changes. Would you rather you had never met her?” He didn’t even have to consider Doyle’s question.

“Of course not,” he said. Doyle gave him a friendly squeeze and briefly rested her head on his shoulder, a solid and comforting presence, just as she had been on Seefra.

“That’s what I thought, and I have not given up hope that she will make it,” she replied. “Listen, I know you want to stay here, but we are due to face the Magog Worldship in approximately five hours. So you need to go shower and eat. She won’t be alone until we have no choice.”

“So soon?”

“We’ve waited as long as we can. The Commonwealth is sending as many ships as they can spare and we have 537 new crew coming onboard to help us. You have some engineers that you need to get acquainted with quickly. Try not to scare them away.”

“I don’t scare people away,” he objected. Doyle sighed beside him and he heard her unspoken accusations. “Okay. Maybe I get a little, and I stress the word little, overzealous. They should be scared. 537 people aren’t going to mean much against the Magog Worldship when nova bombs and an actual supernova couldn't destroy them. The most likely scenario is that we’re all Magog food by the end of the day.”

In his peripheral vision he could see Doyle staring at him, an unreadable expression on her face. He turned to meet her gaze. Her expression hardened, a look of determination.

“That may be so,” she said, “But it doesn’t mean we don’t fight You need to figure out what you are fighting for. I fight for you, and for my home.” He thought about it for a moment, his eyes falling on Trance again. His was heart still heavy from the loss of his home and seeing Trance in front of him reminded him that he had lost everyone he loved for three years the last time they had taken on the Worldship. He often tried to make other believe that he only looked out for numero uno, but that wasn’t exactly true.

“I will fight for my friends. For Earth. And especially for Trance. She at least deserves the chance to get better. We could really use her help out there, though,” he said. Doyle gave him a sympathetic smile.

“She has her own battle to fight. Now get going and don’t forget to take a shower. You haven’t bathed in over 24-hours and you are ripe.”

“All right. All right. Fine. I’m going,” he said in a teasing tone. His mind was already running through a list of what needed to be done, where he could station his new engineers, ideas on how to use Andromeda in new and different ways to lay waste to the Magog Worldship this time around. He was terrified, certainly, but the heaviness of his other worries was lifting. Busyness and impending doom were a temporary fix for emotional distress, and he wasn’t really sure the trade-off was worth it, but he welcomed the reprieve anyway.

“Good, I will see you in command soon.”

“For Earth.” 

“For Friends.

“For Trance.”

He leaned forward and kissed Trance’s forehead, surprising himself. Her skin was like fire against his lips. He only lingered for a moment, but in that moment he felt all of the feelings he’d buried for years begin to surface, the pull of the undertow against his heart. How could he ever have thought he could stop caring?

“Just keep fighting Trance, and promise I will too.” And with those words, he was gone.


	4. Battleground

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Edited 8/4/2017

83 ships. That was all the Commonwealth could spare. 83 ships much smaller and weaker than herself. Andromeda almost couldn’t believe it. She had fought battles with far more ships and less intimidating villains and barely survived. How many of these ships could handle a single shot from a Point Singularity Weapon? How many could withstand hundreds of Magog swarm ships cracking their hulls like eggs to get to the crews inside? 85% of the ships weren’t even alive, and many were crewed with graduates fresh from the training grounds on Tarazed. In fact, every member of the crew she’d on-boarded a few hours before were recent graduates, completely uninitiated in battle.

Yet, this was everything left to spare after last fight with the Magog and the Nietzschean battle two days past, the last of their resources damaged and used up exterminating ants when a pack of angry, hungry wolves lurked nearby. If the Magog reached the known worlds they would overtake the Triangulum Galaxies in a matter of years, multiplying exponentially with each world they pillaged; feasting, breeding, and taking slaves. It had to stop here, yet she could not see how to do it.

“Andromeda, is everyone in formation?” Dylan asked, his voice powerful and calm, as a captain's voice should be. The crewmembers in Command, all so young, stood a little straighter. Only Dylan, and to some extent Doyle, had faced something like this before. Yet, despite increased heartrate and respiration, they stood tall, awaiting orders. She hoped they were able to maintain their composure once the battle began. She extended her consciousness out to the fleet.

“All ships are in formation and awaiting orders,” she reported. With one thought out of thousands running simultaneously, she sent her hologram to Harper in the slipstream core. A new crewmember manned his normal station in Command so he could physically focus on keeping key systems up and running during the fight. His explanation to Dylan had been that he didn’t trust the others to know her systems, and Andromeda had to agree. No one understood her the way he did. Though she would never outright tell him, his genius could not be denied.

She found the young man bouncing from control panel to control panel at a frenzied pace that would put most children to shame. She had never met another fully grown human being with as much energy as Harper, and was certain she never would. His energetic movements and intense focus did not belie his fears. His shoulders were tense, she could detect the speed at which his heart was beating and see the way he trembled ever so slightly. She was impressed with his growth. The first time they met with the Magog, he had been frozen with fear. Now he knowingly walked into battle with his worst nightmare, facing it head on.

He noticed her presence and stopped working, reaching for a Sparky Cola. After four years without access to it, he appeared to be making up for lost time, having imbibed frightening amounts of the beverage since waking five hours before. She wasn’t even certain why a case had been included in the supplies sent with the new recruits, but it was here and Harper was properly wired. What was it that Beka called that vile substance? Yes, ‘Harper Fuel’.

“Is everything in order down here?” she asked.

“You betcha darlin’. You’re as ready as you are ever gonna be,” he said. How could a human being talk so quickly? “I just have one teeny tiny little favor to ask you.”

She feigned an exasperated sigh and crossed her arms in front of her chest.

“What is it Harper?” The young man looked up at her hologram with a playful expression that didn’t reach his eyes.

“Try not to get hit, or let any Magog onboard?” She smiled softly, wishing she could reach out and touch him, to offer a small amount of comfort.

“I will do my best. I just wanted to let you know we will stream shortly,” she said, before popping away and leaving him to his very important work.

She scanned Med Deck. Trance was safely ensconced in a stasis chamber. Andromeda double checked the back ups and then the back ups to the back ups. Given the young woman’s current condition and the potential for catastrophic equipment failure, putting her in stasis was less than ideal, but she was safer inside than out, where she was be an easy and tempting target for Magog intruders and well meaning medics who didn’t understand her physiology. Had it been anyone else, she would have insisted the patient be evacuated to Tarazed, but she and Dylan agreed it was not an option to send Trance away, risking exposure to even more pathogens and doctors who knew less about her than Andromeda. If she failed this mission, Trance would die either way--a simple case of probabilities. She would not fail.

Two medics, a blonde woman with steely blue eyes and a tall, dark skinned, dark eyed, man with close cropped black curls stood at attention in their high guard uniforms with lances strapped to their hips, ready to take care of injured crewmates and defend them if necessary. Matching looks of grim determination decorated their faces. She deployed battlebots to defend all entrances to Med Deck, making every last effort to preserve the lives of her crew.

Andromeda sent her hologram to the slipfighter hangar where Beka, Rhade, and three dozen crewmembers suited up. There was no chatter as they, a mixture humans and Nietzscheans, pulled on flight suits, gloves, and headsets. Those finished already turned to check their partners, who for better or worse. These were the best of the best. They were those from Rhade’s crew still able to fight after the Nietzschean battle and the Academy’s top pilots. Andromeda hoped their achievements were not an exaggeration.

Beka looked up from buckling a boot. Her black leather flight suit, zipped up to the neck, reflected the hangar bay’s lights. Her expression was hard, her presence commanding. Andromeda mused, not for the first time, that Beka would have made a powerful Warship. She and Rhade each had command of a wing of fighters focused on a different portion of the Worldship to pickoff swarm ships before they reached the fleet, supported by four more wings from the Commonwealth fleet.

“Is everyone ready down here?” Andromeda asked.

“Ready?” Beka asked, putting her hands on her hips, with a look of disbelief on her face. “How can anyone be ready for something like this? We have 83 ships and a handful of fighters. They have 20 worlds, a sun, and billions of hungry Magog. No one can ever be ready for that.”

“True,” she replied, “But, the world ship might be easier to defeat now that The Abyss is gone.” 

“Might be, but not will be,” Rhade added, “It does no good to cling to false hope.”

“Right. Let’s do this,” Beka said, and then shouted, “Red team. Everyone, double check yourself and your partner and load it up. Keep tabs on your partner, keep your eyes sharp and we just might all come home.”

“Blue team, same! It’s going to get ugly out there, but if your head is on straight you will make it,” followed Rhade’s voice. Andromeda, satisfied that they were ready to go, nodded to the two pilots and winked out.

At the same time, she delved into the minds of her avatars, on Command. Rommie, as much a part of herself as the slipstream core, stood at the weapons console, a tan skinned Lieutenant with her hair tightly bound in a bun next to her. In Rommie’s mind fear bubbled and festered. The Magog hurt her badly both times she’d faced them. But fear did not deter her, holding steadfast, eager to destroy the creatures threatening the organics she loved. Doyle, allowing Andromeda to use her as an avatar stood at Trance’s station, watching over the environmental and artificial gravity systems. A pale red headed man with a freckled nose worked Harper’s console beside her. She was terrified. Everyone and everything she cared about depended on a positive outcome to this battle. But Andromeda could see a fierce protective streak that empowered her to fight. 

She put her AI on screen, careful to keep her expression neutral and strong. A warship must not show fear in the face of battle, even one with such insurmountable odds.

“Captain, we are ready to enter slipstream at your command,” she reported.

“Then Rommie, let’s bring it.” Dylan commanded. Andromeda fought down a bout of excitement tempered by fear as Doyle said,

“Signaling the fleet to begin streaming.” This was what she was built for, where she shone.

“Transitioning to slipstream now,” The brown-haired Nietzschean woman at the navigation console announced. Andromeda announced it ship-wide for those not on Command and the crew braced themselves for the jump. She rocked as they exited the stream. A quick scan of her systems showed everything was working as planned.

“All ships following in formation,” Rommie reported, “Ready for the next jump.” The crew’s stress responses increased across the ship. This jump would take them to straight to the enemy. Her fear welled up as well. She was three to zero against the Worldship, and if the Worldship functioned at even a quarter of its previous ability, simulations showed they would lose this battle as well. Those were not good odds, and she felt Trance’s absence acutely. Were it not for her, the entire crew would have perished a second time. The only time she escaped with her crew intact without what amounted to divine intervention, they’d had a nova bomb. Another thing she was missing.

She rocked again and they transitioned into slipstream. When they exited the Worldship loomed in front of them. Twenty dull brown planets linked together with giant wires and a dim sun in the center, the damage Trance did when she sacrificed herself clearly visible, many of the planets appeared cracked and burned. Reports had not been exaggerated. The ship was merely crippled, not destroyed.

The redheaded engineer gasped, forgetting his training for a moment. There was a pause, a moment of silence where those on command seemed to hold their breaths. Andromeda sensed the fleet moving into position around her. 

“All ships are accounted for,” she announced.

“There are swarm ships approaching,” Rommie said. Dylan straightened up.

“Ship-wide,” he commanded.

“Aye,” said Rommie. A two-toned buzz announced to the crew that they were being addressed by the captain.

“We are about to engage the enemy. I will not lie to you. We have fought the Magog Worldship before and barely survived. Most of you are new to this. Keep calm, follow orders, do everything like we planned, and we stand a better chance of getting out of this alive. We have no choice. If this ship reaches the known worlds, life as we know it will end. Think about your families and your homes, you are doing this for then. Now, let’s bring it. Code black. Battle stations.”

Andromeda cut the transmission and sounded the code black klaxon. It began just as the first wave of swarm ships attached themselves to her hull, attempting to punch through.

“Swarm ships have attached themselves to my hull,” Rommie said. Dylan hit a button on the panel in front of him.

“Beka, Rhade, you know what to do.”

“You betcha, those swarm ships won’t know what hit them,” Beka’s voice rang through. Andromeda opened the hangar bay doors at Beka and Rhade’s commands, and armed her weapons at Dylan’s. The battle had begun. In Dylan Hunt we trust, she thought as she began to fire.

 

********************

“Rommie, darling, the most beautiful ship in the known galaxies, can you at least try to avoid the PSWs?” Harper asked as he ducked out of the way of yet another exploding console, skin stinging as sparks rained down around him, the scent of burning ozone practically unbearable. With the amount of capital they spent on consoles… His foot hit something as he stepped forward, working his way to another console that had, hopefully, been spared. His brain told him not to look down just as his eyes, on auto-pilot, did. His heart skipped a beat when he saw the corpse of a Magog raider brushing up against his boot; one of those lucky enough, or unlucky enough depending on your point-of-view, to make it aboard the Andromeda. His body recoiled on instinct. “Uuuuugh.”

“I am doing the best I can. My hands are a bit full at the moment,” she replied, voice a bit terse. Not that he could blame her. He was a little testy himself. With a grimace, he climbed over his dead companion and reached the next console. It was still on. That was a good sign. 

“I know you are, babe. It’s just frustrating. We’ve been at this for hours and I don’t know how much longer I can keep you together.”

He pulled out his dataport cord and attached it to the console and then took the other end and placed it into his port. It sparked and he gritted his teeth at the shock, but persisted. His eyes closed and he was in the mainframe, numbers and glyphs swirling around him, tracking a problem with the communications system. The datastream flickered and he felt another shock as he assumed the ship was hit again, but he didn’t pull himself out. There, a blown relay! With a single thought he rerouted communications and pulled himself out of Andromeda’s systems, preferring to have his eyes closed as little as possible with the ever constant threat of becoming Magog food. He didn’t fancy an accurate and painful reenactment of his capture the first time they met up with this thing.

He hit the comm button on the console and said, “Dylan, communications are back up.”

“Good, at least something is going right,” the Captain answered, sarcasm and exasperation coloring his tone. “Now, can you do something about the weapons. Some of them are down.” Harper rolled his eyes and looked to the ceiling the way he used to look to the sky on Earth as if the answers to his problem were written up there. A panel exploded off the wall a few feet away with a cacophony of crashes and bangs as it skittered across the metal deck plates. The ship lurched and Harper barely managed to grab onto the console in front of him to steady himself.

“I’ll see what I can do, boss, but my best guess is that they are gone, vamoose, probably blown to bits at the rate things are exploding around here.”

“Just get me something!” Dylan signed off and Harper exited the control room, heading towards the main Weapons Control Room. He could check them out from anywhere on the ship, but he was banking on Weapons Control being free from Magog, living or dead. Just being around the monsters and smelling their blood matted fur made his skin crawl. Plus, he needed to be there to exact repairs more efficiently. 

“Hey you, get in there and make sure communications stay up,” he ordered one of the new crewmembers assigned to him. It was nice to have minions. The sandy-haired ensign, probably around twenty-three if he had to guess, jumped and ran into the control room.

“Aye, sir,” he said as he went. Excitable, Harper thought. The poor kid was bleeding from a nasty cut on his forehead and looked as if he were about to collapse from fatigue, but he was functioning, so there would be no rest for him until he was either incapacitated, or this battle ended.

“Rommie, what does it look like out there?” Harper asked as he reached the first ladder he needed to navigate. So far he had resisted the urge to ask, burying himself in his work--which there was plenty of--but he felt a sudden urge to know. He knew Andromeda well enough to understand they were near the end, regardless of the outcome. The crew was still alive, an improvement over their last encounter with the Magog. They’d managed to fight off multiple waves of intruders with minimal deaths, but things could not go on like this much longer.

“We have lost twenty-three ships and have taken out fifteen of the Magog's worlds. Without the Abyss to guide them, their actions are uncoordinated and erratic,” the AI replied. For a brief moment, Harper’s hopes sank. Five worlds left. Still a few billion Magog, with their candle burning down to a stub faster than he wanted to admit.

“Unfortunately, they are still Magog and tough sons of…”

“That is correct,” Andromeda said, cutting off his curse. He jumped off the ladder a few rungs from the bottom to speed things up, but ankle twisted painfully as he landed at the exact moment the ship dipped sideways. He hit the ground, hard. He took a beat to catch his breath then pulled himself up. Great, he was already cut up, bruised, and burned enough. Now he had a limp on top of it.

“I am starting to get really pissed off,” he muttered as he limped into the Weapons Control Center. What a mess. Wires hung from the bulkheads, consoles burned out, one still on fire, its acrid smoke filling the room. Not good. Not good at all. He grabbed a fire extinguisher, spraying the flames. They dissipated. To keep his mind busy as he tried to sort through this chaos and find somewhere to work, he kept talking to Andromeda.

“Is Trance all right?” he asked. The worry for his friend, helpless on Med Deck, had been lurking just below the surface since the battle began. He promised to never take her presence for granted again if both of them could just pull through this with their lives intact. Trance said right after trading places with herself, back when he didn’t know if he could ever trust her again, that if their friendship was important enough, and they tried really hard at it, perhaps it could become something even better. He was going to try--really try--this time.

“The stasis pods have, thankfully, not been damaged, and no Magog have broken through my defenses around Med Deck. Trance and the other injured crewmembers are safe for now.”

“Thank God for small favors,” he muttered as he finally cleared a path to the main control panel. It almost couldn’t be considered a console anymore. “Not good, not good, not good.” He took a few steps and pulled a panel off the wall, finding a link-up that was undamaged. He plugged in. For once, it didn’t shock him. He whistled as he saw the damage. What exactly _was_ Dylan throwing at the Worldship? The silverware?

“My internal sensors are acting up, what is the problem, Harper?” Andromeda asked. Harper raised his eyebrows as he scanned the glyphs in front of him.

“What isn’t the problem? When Dylan said some of the weapons weren’t working, what he really meant to say is that we only have point defense lasers and there are no easy fixes. Everything is down and I don’t know what to repair first. Rommie, if we don’t get out of here, we’re toast. We’re fighting with sticks, and not very big ones.”

Rommie’s AI persona appeared in front of him, text and data swirling around her. Confusion and concern showed on her face.

“Something is happening. Harper, brace yourself for shock waves,” she ordered. 

“Shockwaves?” he asked as he opened his eyes, confused, but heeding her warning. He grabbed the nearest console and hugged it with all his strength just as the ship pitched to one side, then the other, and rolled. He lifted as the AG fields weakened before stabilizing again seconds later. Andromeda jumped to slipstream immediately and what little food he’d managed to consume throughout the day shift uncomfortably in his stomach.

The instant the ship was back in regular space he jumped to his feet. Ignoring his twisted ankle and other multiple and varied discomforts, rushed towards Command. He flew up ladders, barreled down hallways, sometimes nearly tripping over fallen crewmembers and dead Magog, until he barged through the Command doors, sweaty, and out-of-breath.

"What… the hell… was that?" he asked between gasps of breath.

"Well hello Mr. Harper," Dylan said dryly. He looked worn. Everyone on Command did, even, to Harper’s surprise, Rommie and Doyle.

“Captain, only fifteen ships made it back,” Rommie reported, a note of somberness in her voice. Dylan rubbed his temples.

“The slipfighters?” Dylan asked. The door to Command hissed open, releasing Beka and Rhade. The former, lacking generations Nietzschean bio-engineering, sweaty and out of breath, presumably from a mad dash from the hangar bay to command. Rommie nodded to the two slip captains.

“All but four fighters from Andromeda made it back. The fleet’s wings sustained heavier casualties.” 

Relief at the sight of Beka’s face filled Harper. He hadn’t realized how concerned he had been. His buddy. His big sister. His co-conspirator. The one who had taken him in, given him a chance, when no one else would. She was safe.

“Harper, damage report,” Dylan ordered. He wrinkled his brow and frowned. 

“You don’t wanna know,” he said, “What happened there at the end, anyway? One moment I was trying desperately to figure out if I could get any of the weapons online and seriously considering making peace with the divine for added insurance, and next thing I know, we’re in slipstream.”

“I wish I could tell you, Harper. It’s as if a sun went supernova, this time taking everything with it.”

“How?” he asked, trying to puzzle through the enigma.

“If it hadn’t happened, we would all be dead. Don’t look a gift horse in the mouth.” Rhade said. Harper shot him a dirty look.

“I normally like gift horses. Gift horses are great. But this isn’t one. We survived because of some sort of Deus-ex-what-the-hell. No one in the fleet had a nova bomb and the only person who would go supernova out of the goodness of her heart is no longer capable of doing so. So forgive me, but I am definitely looking this gift horse in the mouth before it turns around and kicks us in the ass.”

“Harper’s right,” Dylan said, “But we will look into it later. It’s been a long, hard, day and we all need to get some rest. Everyone is dismissed. Rommie, let the surviving crewmembers know. Get your bots to man critical stations and begin caring for the dead and injured.”

One by one the crew left their consoles. Some, ghostlike, made their way out of Command. Others kneeled down to tend to the fallen. Blank faced androids walked through the Command doors and began taking over stations. Harper stood, watching the scene before him, feeling a little lost.

“Harper,” Rommie said, “You need to get to medical. Your ankle needs to be looked at and you are bleeding in several places.” 

Doyle crossed the deck to stand beside him. “I’ll go with you. Trance needs to come out of stasis as soon as possible, and the medics could use a hand down there. We have a lot of injuries to tend to.” 

The adrenaline wore off and suddenly the pain and exhaustion from hours of being thrown to the decks and flung against bulkheads washed over him overwhelming him faster than a sneaker wave on the ocean. He took a tentative step forward, his ankle throbbing and swollen. He winced and nearly lost his balance. 

“Come along, tough guy,” Doyle said, wrapping her arm around his back for support. He leaned into her, and together they left Command, Harper thankful that even though the means were suspect they _had_ won and everyone he loved was alive, for now.


	5. Lemon Margaritas

Before her was a memory almost indistinguishable from reality. She had to relive these memories, accept them as her reality. To hide in her comfortable darkness would be to allow her body to wither and die, like a flower cut off from the sun. She was aware, now that she was no longer shrouded in that lightless place, that her lifeforce was waning. A feeling, like intuition, that told her that she did not have much time. She had to fight for her life, and that fight began here with a memory too painful to live again, but live it again she must.

She took a deep calming breath and stepped forward through the invisible forcefield of her fear into the memory itself. She was both observer and actor, able to think on what she was seeing, but unable to do or say anything differently than she had done before. Her feet continued to pull her forward, despite her mind’s reluctance, towards the giant portico that served as entrance to The Chambers. The glare of the suns on the building’s white stone was so bright that she had to squint to see her path forward. Through her eyelashes she saw a walkway lined with the sullen faces of her people, their skin and hair colors covering the entire spectrum, their costumes borrowed from thousands of cultures. Some had horns, some ridges, many had the smooth faces of humans. Some were earthy and dull, others shimmered in the sunlight as she did, and still more seemed emit a pale glow from within. 

Among them were many young adults, not much younger than she was herself, on the brink of the change that would give them the physical characteristics of their celestial bodies. Purple stars, green planets, silvery blue moons… Each had pointed ears and a tail that flicked back and forth in excitement at being here. Normally children were left out of Lambent Kith politics and allowed to use the universe as their playground, but these children were nearly adults, and this was a momentous occasion. They wore flowers and sparkling things in their hair, just as she had not so long ago. Those things were still in a box buried deep in one of the Maru’s cargo holds so she wouldn’t have to be reminded of the sacrifice she’d asked her younger self to make. It didn’t help. Sacrifice was her birthright, and she was reminded of it every day. As hard as they were, those days of memory loss in Seefra had also been a blessing.

She did not know these faces, those with a connection to her would be inside, but she knew they were here to see the downfall of their oldest and brightest star for themselves. The Nebula had wielded supreme power over their people since before many of them were born. Who was this woman who defied them over and over again? They would have been told she, avatar of the oldest and brightest sun, first appointed to the Nebula-- though one of the last to assume her role-- the most powerful of them, was a traitor. They would have been told that she had chosen to care for and protect organics over her own people and that because of that choice, one of their own had died. The latter, she could not deny, though they did not know her reasons. The Nebula would never give her a chance to explain herself, and these people would not believe her, even if she did. Such was the nature of the Nebula’s power. They did not know that the Abyss had infected their ruling body with its darkness, and many did not know that the Nebula’s power was supposed to be coming to an end now that she was reaching maturity. What could they know except what the Nebula allowed them to?

Her people’s voices rang across the courtyard, a sound like a chorus of Earthen whale song, too many overlapping conversations for her to isolate what they were speaking of. It was loud at first, but grew quieter with each step she took forward until only the sound of rustlings bodies, chirping birds, and the buzz of insects remained by the time she reached the steps. Now, shielded from the sun by a portico held up with rows of massive white columns, she could see two forms standing dwarfed inside a giant arched entryway. One was a moon from the Council of Moons with silver skin and spots like the shadows of craters along his brow, whose name in Common she did not know. The other her husband and heart, Ione.

How cruel it was of the Nebula to place him before her like this? Her mind screamed that she could not live through this again, but her body kept moving. Eyes forward. Chin held high. A confident mask Ione was sure to see through in an instant. Her footsteps echoed on the stone. Ione stood perfectly still, expression unreadable, eyes watching her as she moved ever closer. When she was a few steps away, the other moon, taller and rounder in the face than Ione, said,

“Do not keep her long, Ione. She is expected soon.”

“Thank you, Tarza,” Ione replied. Tarza turned to her and bowed deeply, lingering far longer than was absolutely necessary.

“Fire Princess,” he greeted, his voice deferential. He straightened and walked beyond the door before she could say anything in reply. She allowed to her eyes to follow him until he was consumed by the shadows of a the hallway. She turned to Ione, a question in her eyes, but could tell immediately he would not give her any answers. Already off balance, she turned her full attention to the man before her.

“Ione,” she said. Her voice sounded breathless.

“Trance. I wish I did not have to see you this way.” She stared directly into his eyes. The depths of his feelings for her, the fear and sadness he felt at this moment, it was all there for her to read. Tears welled up in her eyes, but they did not fall. His hands reached out to hers as she took one final step, closing the gap between them. She was shaking. His skin was cool, his touch a small comfort.

“They have called the Council of Moons,” she stated, “Has the System of Planets been called as well?” Ione squeezed her hands.

“They have, my love.” His voice was calm and even. He was trying his best to be strong for her, and she appreciated it more than he would ever know. She had already resigned herself to losing him once, to being separated for the safety of Tarn Vedra, but that was when she thought that it wouldn’t be a permanent separation. She had known the moment her people demanded her return at the threat of harming her friends that their brief moments in the Seefra system would be among the last. There would be no eternity for them. “I am to escort you inside and then take my place among your kindred. They will not allow me to sit on the council today. Sol was barred from entering The Chambers entirely.”

“This is not normal, you should not have been removed from your position and no kindred has ever been barred from viewing judgement by a full Triad,” she said. “The Nebula fears your voices. They will silence me here not allow anyone else to speak.” This she said in a whisper, uncertain of who might be listening nearby.

“The Council and System will never agree,” Ione said firmly, and Trance had no doubt he was right. But his words were empty and he understood that. They were meant as words of comfort. She reached up a hand and placed it on his face. Her beautiful moon.

“Oh, Ione. It was a beautiful dream from the First Ones and Ancient Vedrans, wasn’t it? A perfect balance, planets, moons, and stars, ruling together for a time. But planets and moons are created from stars, and most of their Avatars’ energy is taken from the stars they are bound to. How can they wield power over those who can remove their lifeforce with a thought?” He brought up a hand to cup hers. She took a deep breath, finding herself unable to speak for a moment. She pressed her lips together tightly, fighting back her tears, but they defied her, welling up in her eyes, but not falling.

“Trance…”

“We must accept what has to be. I will be dead or dead to our people by the end of today,” she told him. She needed to say out loud what she had feared from the moment of her summoning. She needed those words to hang in the air before her, to give what she knew substance, to make it real. How else could she say goodbye and how could she take the next step if she didn’t say goodbye?

He leaned forward, kissed her forehead and pulled her into his arms, resting his chin on the top of her head. He smelled clean and earthy, of sunshine and life. Her tears escaped, leaving trails down her face and soaking into his shirt. Surely she would not make it another step with her heart broken into so many pieces?

“They won’t kill you outright, I cannot believe they would, knowing who you are.”

“The result will be the same. Still, our bond will be broken, and we will be apart,” she whispered. He kissed her again. “Please Ione, find Vera, she is still lost as we were. Tarn Vedra needs her avatar, and you will need her as well. The kith are not meant to be alone. A sob finally broke free and she buried her head in Ione’s chest, fighting to regain control. She would not allow the Nebula to see what they had done to her. She would not allow them to see how their actions were destroying her inside.

Ione pulled out of the embrace, but kept his hands on her arms, holding her back just far enough that they could look into each other’s eyes. Tears filled his dark eyes as well.

“Trance Gemini, I will do as you ask, but you must promise me that if you survive today, you will find someone as well. You must find happiness, I could not bear to think of you, the most loving soul I have ever met, living our your life alone.” She shook her head, and then standing on her toes, placed a kiss on his lips. He leaned into it and kissed her back. It was a gentle, tender, kiss that was all to brief. When she pulled back, she could see her tears glistening on his cheeks.

“I don’t know if I can ever be happy again.”

“Try,” was all he said. He held his hand up, palm facing forward, a glow emitting from it. She brought her palm to his and released some of her energy. In the warmth of their shared energy she could feel his love for her. She allowed a soft, sad smile to cross her face, and he smiled back. He was the first to pull away, closing his hand and taking his energy back into himself. She did the same. “We have to go.”

They walked in silence down a shadowy hall, lit by torch-like floating suns until they reached two large double doors, each guarded by a moon whose silvery skin seeming to glow in the dim light. Ione stopped her a few steps away. This was it. Behind those doors she would meet with her punishment, a punishment she was warned would be coming by Virgil Vox.

She turned to Ione one last time. He leaned down to give her a final kiss. A final goodbye.

“We must accept the things that must be.,” she said aloud to give herself the strength to say the words that needed to be said, “Goodbye. I love you, and I will always love you.”

“Goodbye, my love. My heart will always belong to you.” She pulled out of their embrace, suddenly feeling alone, though she knew just inside those doors were her family and friends, her kindred. Ione nodded to the other two moons. They bowed deeply and then opened the door. She took just a moment to compose herself and put her mask on once again, wiping her tears away with the sleeve of her tunic. She had to hold on just a little bit longer, and then, perhaps she could go home to Andromeda’s safe sheltering arms.

As they passed through the doorway she thought she heard one of the moons whisper, “Princess.”

The circular hall beyond the doors was brightly lit compared to the hallway leading up to it, the light of both suns shining through a huge domed stained glass ceiling. It depicted, in vibrant color, the Vedran system as it had been before the fall of the commonwealth. Her sun, large and bright, Vera’s planet still a lovely blue and white ball rather than the dusty hell it had become after the fall, and Ione’s beautiful silvery moon circling the planet. At least once she was gone the reminder of who she was would still literally hang over the Nebula’s heads in this ancient hall. She took comfort and strength from the image of her small system. The stained glass cast colorful prisms on the white tile floor.

Ione led her to the center of the room, a comforting hand on her arm. When they reached the center, she felt him let go and saw him walk to a platform where those with more than a superficial connection to her, would watch her judgement. The oldest of her sisters, brothers, and cousins were there, sitting in a purple skinned group, surprisingly still for adolescents of the Lambent Kith. There were dozens of them, but most she hardly knew as she was the eldest and they were much younger than her. She’d been made a part of the Nebula as soon as she reached adolescence and purposefully separated from her family and the few childhood friends she had been permitted to make to discourage her rebellious streak, something that was both a product of her age, and a fault of her personality. Their names were almost all she knew about them. Sitting together towards the center of the group were the planets and moons of her twin’s system. Ares, with his dark hair and dusty red skin. Luna, her eyes and face drawn with sorrow, tears on her cheeks, still mourning the loss of her planet. These men and women she knew well and loved fiercely. They were all there, even the avatar of Pluto’s tiny moon. First they lost Gaia so suddenly to the Abyss, and now they were forced to watch as she was lost to them as well. Her brother should have been among them, lending them his strength, but the Nebula had taken that away.

Her eyes fell on blue skinned Flux, buried in a group of friends who were more like acquaintances. Though his hot burning blue sun was in a system far from hers and far from Sol’s his avatar was of an age with Sol and her. There were very few her age, so they had been good friends as children, often traveling together to see what the universe had to offer. Their closeness was a thing of the past. The last time she’d seen him he had been a loyal soldier of the Nebula, doing their bidding and imploring her to come home. He noticed her gaze on him and bowed so slightly that she thought might have imagined it. His expression was neutral, but his eyes sad. Was the sadness because of the fate he knew awaited her, or was his sadness because he believed her a traitor as most here undoubtedly did?

She pulled her eyes away from her kindred, knowing she had to face the rest of the room. This was a new vantage point for her, and she had never considered how small and exposed those brought before the Triad must have felt as she stood in judgement over them. Her eyes passed over the Council of Moons standing together on their platform, one short without Ione. They stood solemnly, watching her. Their skin ranged from dusky grey, to bright white. Some had black hair, some silver, and some white. Shadows were painted on all their faces. A few were tinged blue and green, moons that bore life. Tarza stood at the head, where Ione would normally stand. He gave her a slight nod.

Across from them was the System of Planets, two short without her Vera, who had not been seen since Tarn Vedra was hidden, and Sol’s Gaia. The System was the most varied of all in color, facial structure, and hair. They too watched her solemnly. A grey skinned planet with curly blue hair and prominent chin stood at the head in Veras place, the avatar of Ugroth, the Perseid homeworld. She gave Trance a small smile that Trance assumed was supposed to be comforting. She did not return it.

Finally, she allowed herself to look straight ahead at the Nebula. They stood on their platform together. The rules that governed trials held in The Chambers predated the Nebula’s creation by at least a billion years, though no one could quite say when, so in here they did not take the same form, but stood facing her in their true forms. Most were gold, dusted with red, mature avatars. Like her, they wore their hair long and in elaborate updos with curls or braids. Their hair colors ranged from strawberry blonde like hers to black. Two had the purple skin and blonde hair of young adults who had not changed yet, the Nebula being the only governing body with children on it. They were her sisters, both very slightly younger than her. The oldest of the two, Kara, stared at her with cold, accusing eyes mirroring those of the other stars on the council. The younger, Stella, met Trance’s eyes briefly. In those moments Trance saw sorrow, love, and a glimmer of independence.

“Welcome and be welcomed.” The red sun named Azazel said, moving forward into the circle. So it was she who would take Trance’s place as the voice and image of the Lambent Kith Nebula, the position Maura had inhabited the last time Trance came to plead her case. Her appearance had not changed since Trance last saw her at the Battle of Samsarra. The woman’s black hair, formed into delicate dreadlocks, was piled elaborately on top of her head with several locks left to frame her round face whose high cheekbones were dusted with a shimmering red giving her severe and unfriendly look. She had a commanding presence, despite having a stature even smaller than Trance’s. Undoubtedly, after today, the entire Nebula would take on her appearance if she was now First. The First was not the Nebula’s leader as they were supposed to be of one mind, but she was their voice. There was no love between Trance and Azazel. The decision to allow Dylan sacrifice Samsarra, a world she had never met and who had committed no crimes Trance was aware of, to appease the Nebula and keep the New Commonwealth in the fight against the Abyss still haunted her. 

Following convention, Trance curtsied, but only as far as she needed to, a small and meaningless rebellion to match this meaningless farce of a trial.

“Rise Trance Gemini,” Azazel said.

“I have come to plead my case,” she said, keeping her voice level and her eyes solidly on Azazel’s cold ones though tradition would have her keep her eyes down humbly and subserviently. Another rebellion.

“You stand accused of treachery,” Azazel said. “Time and time again you have defied this council, refusing to relinquish your individuality and abide by our decisions. You live among organics and treat them as if they are your equals. Your eccentricities were tolerated because of who you are and who your mother was.” Trance had to stop herself from rolling her eyes, remembering the isolation and punishments exacted on her over nearly two billion years because of these ‘tolerated’ eccentricities. “But, you have committed a far greater crime this time. For the first time in the history of this Universe, the Lambent Kith have fought against one another, and one of us has been lost. What do you have to say?” It took a great deal of self control to keep her hands from moving, a nervous habit that had become more pronounced on Seefra.

“Maura was not one of us,” she said, disappointed to hear the tremble in her voice.“She was working for the Abyss. She deceived us all.”

“Do you have any proof of this?” Kara asked. Trance allowed her gaze to rest on her younger sister. The resemblance between their true forms was obvious, Kara looking much like Trance had before the change. There was no trace of the girl Trance had known before they were both inducted into the Nebula. Her childlike innocence was gone, replaced by the same cold indifference Azazel portrayed.

“Sister, you know I do not. But I would not lie. I have never lied to this council.”

“We would have known if her loyalties lay elsewhere. We are the Nebula. We are as one.” A golden star with blood red curls said. Trance raised an eyebrow, deciding that she was done with this game.

“That is hardly true. I have managed to defy you time and time again, as you yourself have said,” she said, her voice hard, dangerous. “I cannot prove that what I say is true, but I would ask why this council decided to destroy this universe long before its natural end, the exact scenario we were charged with preventing? Was there any other reason the Nebula decided to do the Abyss’ work for it?” There was a hiss of surprise around the room, a gasping breath of life from the people surrounding her.

“We do not have to answer to you,” Azazel snapped, losing some of her composure. Trance raised her chin and rolled back her shoulders, affecting the most confident and regal posture she could given the circumstances and the storm of fears churning beneath the surface. Here, at this moment, in front of her kindred and the most powerful of her people, she would be who she was meant to be, even if it was only a flash in the long lives of her people. She would remind them of her role in their society. She would be in control.

“That is all the answer I need. This is a waste of our time. Settle my punishment and be done with it.” Another murmur of surprise, this time starting as a whisper until it was almost deafening. The Nebula had lost control of the room. Trance allowed her eyes to wander, feeling a small amount of satisfaction at the shock on her people’s faces. Perhaps they had forgotten about her, forgotten who she was raised to be, hidden as she was under the Nebula’s ever watchful eyes.

“Silence,” Azazel shouted. The room quieted immediately.

“How does the Council rule?” Stella asked, her quiet, childlike voice carrying across the room. She too resembled Trance, even more so than Kara. The younger girl being gentlest of the three of them, Trance had argued with her mother against forcing Stella into the Nebula, but her mother had been firm. All three of her older daughters would help to guide the Nebula’s decisions. The First Ones and the Vedrans had been so naive.

Tarza stepped forward into the circle. Trance gave him a small smile when his eyes met hers. She saw defeat in them. He knew his words would not sway the Nebula.

“Trance Gemini is the oldest and brightest sun, we find it hard to believe that she would lie about Maura's loyalties, or cause the death of one of the Lambent Kith Nebula’s own without reason. In light of that, it is entirely possible that the Abyss designed everything. We believe that her claims should be investigated and punishment postponed. Of this, we are of one mind.”

“And the System?” asked Stella. The silvery planet stepped forward to speak.

"We are of the same mind as the Council. There was no need call for a Triad. Trance Gemini would never betray our people.”

Azazel moved forward until she was merely steps away from Trance. The woman didn’t even look at her compatriots from the other councils, keeping her cold gaze on Trance instead.

“We have heard and weighed the words of the Council of Moons and the System of Planets against your crimes,” she said. “Since you can not offer us proof that Maura was an agent of the Abyss we find you guilty of attacking a fellow avatar and responsible for Maura’s death. You were warned that there would be consequences should you continue to defy us.” Trance did not move as Maura spoke. She willed her body to remain perfectly still. “Your crimes warrant an immediate death, but given the strong words of the others in the Triad, and your former position as one of us, we will not take your life. You have found solace in the company of organics up until now. Now you may do so as one of them.”

The room was absolutely silent. Trance could see shock, amazement, anger, and myriad of other emotions reflected on the faces of those she could see in her peripheral vision. Her anger, simmering before, rose to boiling point. She had expected this might be her punishment. She had expected to feel sorrow, confusion, fear. She felt none of that now -- though it would come-- only an all consuming anger as she realized that Maura had not been the only one working for the Nebula. This had been its plan all along, though it was no longer alive to see it realized. The Abyss was gone, and in its place, the Nebula now resided. The light of the universe now the source of its darkness.

“You have succumbed to the darkness, betraying the First Ones who came over from a dying universe to join with our suns so this universe would not fall victim to the Abyss before its time, so that when this universe dies, it will be reborn,” she said, more for the sake of the people around the room than the council before her, who were already lost. “You have betrayed the Ancient Vedrans who created you ensure that our people survived until those of us born in this Universe to the First Ones were mature enough to govern ourselves…”

“Silence,” the Nebula shouted together, cutting her off, their collective voices so loud that Trance flinched at the sound. But she was not cowed. The air around her shimmered and she felt her connection with her son begin to fade. She felt simultaneously like she was on fire and like she was disintegrating at the molecular level. She felt dizzy and weak. It was more painful than anything she could have imagined. Still, she did not cry out. She could hardly stand by the time they were finished, but she forced her back to remain straight, head held high. Only the tears falling involuntarily from her eyes gave testament to her pain.

“I hope you can live with the blood of billions on your hands,” she said directly to Kara when it was done, her voice hardly above a whisper as she struggled to find breath enough to speak. Kara looked upon her with disgust. Beside her stood Stella, tears running down her face.

The bright hall faded from view and she found herself back in the darkness Sol had taken her from. She fell to her knees and allowed the pain she had been trying to hid from to flow through her, a great waterfall that needed to be spent. These weren’t the gentle, quiet sobs permitted herself on the Maru, unable to contain all of the hurt the way she wanted to, but great heaving sobs that held within them a very long lifetime of pain and suffering. They contained every sacrifice she had made in vain to reach this point. They held within them the loss of her childhood and the loss of the future she had planned for herself. They spoke of the loss of her identity, of her husband, of Vera, of the perfect possible future that she was supposed to bring about.

She cried until her chest ached from the sobs and it seemed that she had run out of tears. It was then, lying curled up on the ground in her comfortable darkness, exhausted and spent from crying, that she realized that it was no longer silent. She could hear the voices of her friends so far away that she could not make out their words. She pulled herself up off the ground and stood listening carefully. There was Dylan’s comforting voice, speaking gently to her. Beka sounded motherly, worried. She heard Rommie and Doyle, even Rhade. The voices were constant, gentle, and loving. More often than any other, she heard Harper’s voice. He told her stories, his words quick and animated. He read to her. He talked to her and teased her as if they were having a two way conversation, and sometimes he pleaded with her. She could not hear his words, but his tones and cadences were familiar from their years of friendship. 

“You can do this, Trance,” she told herself, “You can survive.” She stepped forward into the darkness unsteadily. She focused on Harper’s voice, so much more frequent and stronger than the rest. She used him as her guide. Once they had become friends again after she’d traded places with her purple self, she had commented on his resilience, still in awe of how quickly he bounced back after Hohne’s death and the removal of the Magog larvae from his body. She had forgotten so much about her best friend during their separation. How smart he was. How funny. How he knew exactly which buttons to push to irritate her and how that was a sign of how much he cared that he knew. How much trouble he could get into with just an ounce of opportunity… In true Harper fashion, he’d brushed off her comments with a joke, “When Life gives you lemons, you make lemon margaritas and get drunk enough to laugh in Life’s face.” Words of wisdom from an unlikely source. She kept moving forward, knowing that pain, weakness, and sorrow were waiting for her on the other side, but also that she would find love, compassion, and friendship there. The unity of opposites. One of the rules that had always governed her life.

“There can be no light without shadows,” she said aloud.

After a time she was surprised to find herself in a bright white room with a bonsai tree on a dais in front of her. The physical tree was long gone, but she still used the imagery of it as a focal point in her meditations. This was her thinking space, someplace she could easily escape from. She could hear Harper and Andromeda speaking around her, and then Andromeda was quiet. Harper was talking to her alone. She could hear the worry in his voice, the pleading tone he had taken on. She willed herself to leave this space and return to the real world. It was time to learn how to make margaritas.


	6. Vigil

The doors to Med Deck hissed open and Harper stepped inside the dim room, body aching, eyes heavy and full of grit, his stomach growling after ten hours the conduits with only a few minutes stolen here and there to consume chalky protein bars and Sparky Cola. Two-weeks-four-days since the newly christened Battle of the Worldship, and even in dry dock with access to unlimited supplies from Terazed, and a gaggle of over-eager Perseid engineers on loan from Xinti, Andromeda still needed copious amount of works. Progress moved slower than a Lidean great slug on a sandy beach, each fix revealing another requiring immediate attention. The battle had damaged the majority of Andromeda’s systems, a few to the point of needing a complete overhaul. Still, he did not want to rest until he devoted time to Trance, as he had late into every night since the Worldship’s defeat.

He stood for a moment watching Rommie’s shadow through curtains set up in the back corner to protect Trance’s privacy from the trickle of crewmates with minor injuries and illnesses that passed through Med Deck every day now that over five hundred people called Andromeda home. Dylan was adamant that only familiar faces surround her. No one objected. Without discussion or prompting, the senior staff had fallen into a routine to care for their friend, someone who loved her nearby at all hours. The new team of medics, Trance’s team, assigned elsewhere until needed.

He listened as she explained the exercises she was helping Trance to do; arm night tonight, from the sound of it. Several times a day Rommie or Doyle worked through a series of exercises meant to, with the aid of specialized nanobots, prevent muscle atrophy and reduce recovery time when she woke. No one entertained the idea, at least not out loud, that she would not wake. 

Feet dragging out of both exhaustion and reluctance, Harper made his way across the room. He hated watching these necessary physical therapy sessions. His skin crawled to see someone who, in the past, had been so self-possessed and full of life lay unresponsive while others manipulated her limbs. In Seefra, he’d disliked watching her rely on Dylan for every decision, so unsure of herself without her memories. At least then she’d possessed the ability to decide at all.

“I think we’ve done enough for tonight. Harper is here,” Rommie told the other women, signaling her awareness of his entrance. He suspected she realized the exercises made him uncomfortable because they always ended after his arrival. He picked up his pace and slid behind the partitions, the make-shift alcove large enough to host two visitors in relative comfort. Rommie, dressed in a blue leather fitted tank top and navy slacks, black hair framing her face, tucked a shimmering midnight purple blanket around Trance, who lay on her side, pillows bolstering her from behind.

Her face, pale, and sallow-skinned, with eyes sunken and ringed with shadows, gave lie to the illusion of a young woman taking a simple nap. Yesterday Beka spent close to an hour combing out and braiding younger woman’s hair into a French braid to stop it tangling when Rommie and Doyle changed her position throughout the day. With her thick curls pulled from her face it was easier to see the sharp protruding angles of her cheek and jaw bones, the peaks and valleys caused by weight loss. Slender to begin with, the result was shocking. She looked even smaller in the standard baggy white medical pajamas she wore, a child in her mother’s clothing. Andromeda’s search for the perfect cocktail of nutrients to keep her from losing more continued with little luck. Trance needed solid food.

The orchid and rose bush he’d found her with the night she’d fallen ill, retrieved after the battle, sat on a cart by her bedside, delicate sentries watching over nanobots and medication injectors pre-filled with presumably safe medications. A tiny forest of plants, identified by each of them as Trance’s favorites, covered metallic surfaces and obscured monitors and screens, a unique blending of nature and technology. The lights were low and a few candles burned, giving the room a soft, flickering glow the sweet aroma of flowers rising with the smoke. Rommie’s contribution.

Beka had had gathered blankets and pillows from Trance’s quarters, along with her comb and hairbrush, both made of bone with intricate engravings of small-petaled flowers painted pink and yellow, faded by the passage of time. She’d had them as long as he’d known her.

Harper nodded to Rommie in greeting. His studied the vitals readouts above Trance’s head, as he did every evening. He grimaced at the temperature readout.

“Another fever?” he asked, disbelief lacing his tone. Every time one broke another took its place within a few hours.

“Yes. Low grade today, for the first time. A low fever can be an important part of the immune process. The number of viruses in her body has dropped 5% since this morning. This fever is helping, not hurting,” Rommie explained.

“What about her brain activity?” he asked. Two days ago scans had showed more signs of activity in the areas Andromeda thought governed her senses — but while much of her physiology was like a human’s, as Doyle had explained to him, her brain held many differences. It was a guess, even with the AIs’ massive joint brainpower, which areas directed which functions and how to heal the damage from weeks of pressure on the brain. It was still a hopeful sign, and that activity appeared to be increasing at a steady rate.

“There has been improvement today. I am hopeful she will return to consciousness soon.” Harper took a seat on the black leather armchair Doyle brought up from storage to offer visitors comfort in their vigil.

“I hope so, with Dylan talking about sending her to Xinti,” he snapped, not bothering to keep the venom from his voice. Dylan added that little nugget to the end of their senior staff meeting two days ago. A possibility if her convalescence continued. Andromeda wasn’t equipped for long term patients. Xinti was home to the foremost expert on alien medicine and he had access to the Commonwealth’s most advanced medical equipment. Harper had to admit Dylan would never send Trance away without believing she had a better chance elsewhere. But still he fumed. “He can’t do that. She’ll be a lab rat to an overzealous chin-head with visions of academic grandeur.” And, he didn’t add, she would be light years away from anyone who loved and cared about her. It seemed cruel to abandon her, even for her own good.

He reached out and grabbed a warm hand. Her fingers twitched at his touch, something that had been happening for the last week. A small, but hopeful sign.

“That is only one possibility for treatment, Harper.” Rommie said, tone placating and comforting. “A last resort. I don’t think it will come to that.” She rearranged items on the bedside cart then ducked out. A door opened and shut on the other side. She returned with a lidded silver food container and water bottle. She put both on the cart next to him.

“What’s that?”

“Dinner.”

“Um, thanks. It looks… healthy.” Rommie gave him her ‘Harper, just do as you’re told,’ look.

“You have eaten nothing that resembles actual food today and you don’t sleep at night. We are all worried about you.” Harper didn’t miss her emphasis on the word ‘all’. Okay, maybe he was pushing himself a little harder than necessary. In the past, Trance would have already stopped by to give him ‘company’, code for checking on him and making sure he took care of himself. Guilt bubbled up. They had enough worries on the table without him adding to them.

“Ok, I’ll eat… Thank you, Rommie.” She patted his shoulder and smiled before heading out.

“I will monitor things here, but let me know if you need anything,” she said, and then left, her boots clicking on the deck plates.

He pulled his hand out of Trance’s and picked up his dinner; a variety of colorful fruits sliced and stacked with a smattering of small red berries, two hard white cheese varieties, a yellow cream cheese for dipping fruit into, and two crusty brown rolls with a sprinkle of grains on top and little round patties of butter.

“This dinner has Trance’s choice written all over it,” he told his companion, “It’s like what you used to make us when it was your turn to cook on the Maru. You’re always trying to convince me to eat healthy.” He took a slice of a crispy red fruit, a popular variety from Hydroponics, and dipped it into the cream cheese.

He ate in silence for a few minutes to the symphony of mechanical whirs and the steady beeping of Trance’s heartbeat. The food quieted his grumbling stomach, and the coolness of the fruit and creaminess of the cheese refreshed him. Fruits and vegetables like these, fresh and perfect, had been a rarity growing up. Refugee camps on Earth netted you one hot and a cot if you were lucky.

Three weeks ago he had tried to return to that life. A hasty decision. A bad one. Fodder for future self loathing and regrets of the capital ‘R’ variety. It wasn’t just knowing his presence in the Maru’s cargo hold the day after his attempted leave-taking saved Trance’s life. It was knowing how terrified he was at this moment that her life would slip away, gone forever, that made him understand; if he left his friends, he left a part of himself behind. The better part.

He hadn’t loved like this since his parents died. When he left Earth, he had intended to keep it that way. Travel the universe. Convince a woman to put up with him. Move on when feelings sprouted through the cracks. But the first person he met was Beka, and she collected lost souls, his kindred spirits. First Rev, then Vexpeg, and finally Trance after Vexpeg’s unfortunate run in with the vacuum of space. He allowed them to become his new family. It made him vulnerable. When he lost everyone on Seefra, it was his worst nightmare realized.

His solution? A preemptive strike. Leave them now before they could leave him. Some self-sabotage in the present to save himself from pain when everything fell apart, as it always did.

The silence dragged on as he finished his meal. He stacked his dirty dishes on the cart and took one of her hands into both of his. No movement this time. Words abandoned him tonight. Earthers believed the voices of loved ones could heal. Without access doctors and proper medical equipment in the refugee camps they armed themselves with thoughts and prayers. So, he talked. He told her legends and stories from Earth and tales about his parents, cousins, and friends. When he tired of those, he gave her detailed reports on the repairs to Andromeda, focusing on upgrades he’d ordered for Med Deck and Hydroponics, as if he could appeal to her solid work ethic to get her to open her eyes. He even read to her his favorite stories and poems from childhood. Tonight, it wasn’t enough.

Maybe working himself to exhaustion was not sufficient enough to keep his mind from wandering into the shadows of sorrow and despair. As this version of life became routine and the crew of Andromeda developed a sense of normalcy, a part of him recoiled, fought against the change. With Earth gone, and Trance’s life still so uncertain, they were moving on too fast, leaving him behind. Too many complicated thoughts crowded his mind. He no longer had the energy to uphold a one-sided conversation. At the moment, he really needed a therapist, but would settle for his best friend.

“Come on, Trance. You've got to wake up,” he pleaded. “I miss you. I know I tried to leave everyone behind, so that might not sound like the most sincere admission, but it’s true. You’ve been here all along and I know that. I know I didn’t go out of my way to be a great friend, even before Seefra. But I do. I miss you… I miss you more than I can ever tell you.” The words kept pouring out of him. Like a waterfall breaking free from winter’s freeze. Like a sudden rainstorm over parched land. Everything he felt. Everything he wanted to say rushed out, no longer containable. “I promise I will work harder this time. You might not believe me, but open your eyes and give me a chance… I need you. We all do… You’re our heart.”

His last sentence surprised him, a feeling rising from the deepest chasms of buried emotions. Without a doubt, it was true. She was their heart, their hope, their lucky charm — indispensable and irreplaceable.

Her fingers tickled his palm as if to acknowledge his words, but her eyes remained stubbornly shut tight, her body motionless. His words hung in the air between them filling it with static. They were out there, free floating, yet unheard and unrealized. A frantic need to diffuse the sudden tension gripped him.

“Trance… Listen, if you wake up right now I will never hit on you again. No more sexual advances. I promise,” he said, using his tried and true brand of humor. No movement. No acknowledgement. He sighed, pushing the air out of his lungs until he was lightheaded. He felt defeated, ground down by the universe itself.

“This is hopeless,” he said, leaning back and closing his eyes.

Then he heard it. A quick intake of breath followed by a long exhale. At first he thought he was imagining things until it happened again. Inside his hands Trance’s hand coil into a tight fist, then release. A small, hushed groan joined the steady beeping of her vitals monitors.

His eyes snapped open, he shot out of the chair, letting go of her hand and leaning forward on the bed with both hands resting beside her. The chair rocked on two legs, landing on all four again with a solid thump. Her eyes had yet to open, but her furrowed brow and pursed lips told him she was awake now, or at least aware enough to show signs of pain. Her hand opened again, and she stretched out her fingers. They brushed against his hand. She reached for him and he grabbed her hand to let her know he was there. She held on, her grasp weak.

“That worked?” he asked, amazed. “Trance! Trance! I’m right here. I’m right here.”

Her breaths came quick and shallow. The monitor above her head beeped in warning as her heart rate picked up speed. He removed the pillows holding her up on her side and rolled her onto her back, hoping it might make it easier to breathe. His heart thumped hard against his chest. Dinner, so refreshing a moment before, rolled in his stomach. Old movies from Earth showed smiling, happy patients springing back to life with a clever quip, ready to rejoin their loved ones in the world of the living. Not this. He was not prepared for this.

“Seamus… It hurts,” she said, her unused voice a faint whisper. Her eyes opened, cloudy and out of focus. She blinked several times, but they remained dazed. In their depths he read fear, pain, and confusion. He didn’t need medical training to understand that her anxiety was rising. So was his.

“Boy am I glad to see you,” he said, giving the hand he held a tight squeeze. “I’m going to help you. Just as soon as I figure out how.” His voice took on a higher pitch, carrying the note of his own anxiety.

“Harper,” Andromeda said, her hologram popping up across from him, her voice calm and commanding, “On the cart is an injector with hydromatazline, give her one-quarter dose. Rommie is on her way. Trance, can you hear me?” Trance nodded, but kept her eyes on Harper. “Your body reacts strongly to medications. I have concluded that this formula is the most likely to work with your physiology and have the fewest adverse effects. We have to start with a low dose. I cannot be certain what will happen. Do you understand?”

She winced with eyes shut tight, then nodded. 

“Yes, Andromeda,” she replied, her voice louder. A fit of coughing seized her. Her heart rate continued to increase, and the coughing worsened with it.

“Harper, the nanobots aren’t able to keep up with the increased respiration. You need to help her calm down until Rommie can get here and adjust them.” 

He reached towards the cart with his free hand, unwilling to let go of her when she was holding on so tight and fumbled with the injectors until he found the correct one. It took just a moment to program in the correct dose and press it to Trance’s neck. It hissed as it released the medication into her system.

“This should help,” he told her, watching the monitor out of the corner of his eyes for any new signs of distress. Her eyes opened again. They searched his face, trying hard to focus on him. He kept hold of her hand and brought his free hand to her crown, smoothing down her hair the way she did for him when he was sick. Her eyes finally came into focus. They were so dark. In almost three weeks, he had forgotten just how dark they were. “I’m here. Right here. I’m not going anywhere. You’re on Med Deck. You’re safe. Just try to breathe. Nice and slow. Rommie will be here in a few minutes.”

His words, meant for her, comforted him. She said nothing, just watched him. The pain medication, even at such a minuscule dose, took effect. Her forehead smoothed out, her breathing stabilized and slowed down, the nanobots taking control again.

“Better?” he asked. She gave a small nod. 

“I heard you… your voice,” she whispered.

He gave her a tiny smile, and she returned it with a slight upturn of her lips. He wondered how much she had heard and understood. Her eyes shut and then opened again, wider than before, an instant later, wider than. She didn’t blink for a long time, and when she did her eyes stayed shut for a beat before she forced them open again, fighting a losing battle against fatigue.

“It’s okay. You can go to sleep again. One of us will be here when you wake up,” he told her, “You don’t have to worry.” 

“Just woke… so tired.” 

“It’s okay,” he repeated.

She blinked a few more times, the distance between each blink growing longer until her eyes stayed closed. She was asleep a moment later. He stayed there, watching the almost unnoticeable movements of her brow and lips as she truly slept for the first time in weeks. A hiss, some heavy footsteps, and then Rommie was beside him. He tore his eyes off Trance at the pressure of Rommie’s hand on his shoulder.

“You did well,” she said, giving him a rare compliment, “You should go to bed. She likely won’t wake up again for several hours. It is not uncommon for a patient to only wake up for a few moments at a time for several days after a coma.”

“Yeah, I guess,” he said, turning back towards Trance. Even though his body craved sleep the way flower reached for the sun, he found himself reluctant to leave. He picked up Trance’s blanket, a waterfall of soft fabric hanging off the bed after all the excitement, and arranged it around her. She stirred, her head turning to the side, the golden fingers of one hand curling around the blanket. “Take good care of her, Rom Doll.”

“Of Course, Harper. Good night.”


	7. Out of Darkness

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Updated: 8/4/2017

When she awoke out of the darkness, first came awareness, then confusion and pain. Then fear of that pain, a monstrous, faceless beast that threatened to consume her—her oldest foe, a constant companion, uninvited and impossible to banish. But she never had to fight it alone. As she stirred, her heart rate rising, the beeping of monitors giving tell of her growing terror, a friendly hand always reached out.

“It’s all right. You’re on Andromeda. Focus on me,” Rhade said, voice steady and even.

“Trance, I’m here. It’s okay. Let me get your medicine,” Beka soothed, her tone that of a mother caring for a sick child.

“You’re safe. I’m by your side,” said Dylan, her protector. Pain was not an alien to her, but she’d never had to endure such a nonstop barrage of it. Before, the connection to her sun had healed her enough to function from fatal injuries in hours, completely in days—quicker if she remained unconscious. Physical discomfort, even of the harsh and blinding variety, had always been acute and manageable. Not so this pain. It radiated from deep within her muscles and bones, punishing in its relentlessness.

Her body refused to allow her mind to stay in the waking world more than a few minutes at a time. She struggled against the current of overwhelming fatigue, but it kept pulling her under. Time had no meaning. She measured it in flashes of faces and words of encouragement and love. Those kind words, those friendly smiles, she hoarded them, gathering them close, wrapping them around herself in an armor of love. She fought for her friends.

But, this was different. Before, waking had been like pushing up from the bottom of a deep pool, buffeted by an unseen current. Her senses struggling, at first, to make sense of the volley of input they were receiving, clouded by pain—her surroundings appearing indistinct and blurred, images viewed through a panel of aged, warped glass, voices coming from far away. Now, her body simply came to life, awakening to the beeps and whirs of Med Deck and Doyle’s tuneless humming nearby. Her limbs were heavy, solid, and aching. The pain diminished to a level she could focus through. She forced her lids, weighed down and crusted from sleep, open. She remained silent, observing her surroundings with newfound clarity.

A small smile pulled at her lips as she absorbed Med Deck’s new decor. A garden of green leaves and graceful flowers in decorative pots sprouted up from metallic surfaces. These were her treasured plants, each with a name and a story. Some people collected trinkets to remember the people and places that touched them, she collected life itself. Her friends had known which to bring to her to bring her comfort.

Odd, she thought, how she surrounded herself with life, how precious it was, yet how unwilling she had been to fight for her own. If her friends did not think her life valuable, worthy of fighting for, they would not have transformed Med Deck’s sterile environment into a green sanctuary. They would not have collected her belongings from her rooms and surrounded her with beloved familiar trinkets, draping her in the blanket she used each night.

Small scattered things told her that her friends frequently occupied this space with her. An empty beer bottle abandoned on the cart, one of Beka’s holo novels in the seat of a black leather arm chair, a pitcher of water and stack of cups keeping a polished steel bowl of shiny red cherries company on the well-lit countertop. They had not given up on her. It was sobering to think she had almost chosen to leave them behind to mourn her.

“Doyle?” she tried to call out, voice catching, coming out as a hoarse whisper. Quick footsteps. Doyle appeared in the entrance, superior android hearing making up for Trance’s inability to vocalize.

“Oh Trance! I didn’t hear you wake up.” A large smile decorated the android’s pretty face, showing off a set of perfect white teeth and creating tiny wrinkles in the corners of her narrow, wide-set hazel eyes. She had pulled her fine blonde hair into a twist, pinned in the back, bangs framing her face. A thin, brown leather jacket with buckles that pulled it tight around Doyle’s curvy waist covered a low-cut teal camisole. A pair of tight leather pants with shiny silver buttons completed the outfit. New, and well tailored, they weren’t Seefran clothes. She’d been shopping, Trance concluded.

In her hands she held a blue bulb-shaped misting bottle. She waved it in front of her. “I was on the other side to getting water, your Rigelan fire palm looked like it needed a pick-me-up. Med Deck’s air is too dry.”

She attempted to speak again, to thank Doyle for caring for her plants, but coughed instead. The force of it tore at her raw throat, a sudden intense pain transforming her smile into a grimace. On instinct, she reached out to her sun to draw on its healing energy, but found nothing, just a vast, cold emptiness. Tears welled up when she opened her eyes, threatening to fall. Before, she had not been conscious long enough to fully comprehend what it meant to lose half herself.

Doyle was beside her now. She hadn’t heard the other woman cross the makeshift room or pour the clear glass of water she now held. “Here, this should help.” Doyle pressed a button on the side of the bed. The head lifted to a moderate incline, affording Trance a better view of the room. She pressed the cup to Trance’s lips. “Just a few sips for now.”

She did as ordered, cool water soothing the pain. After a few sips interspersed with deep calming breaths she nodded for her friend to take the cup away. 

“There you go.” Doyle set the cup down.

“Thank you.” She forced her lips to curve into a tiny, grateful smile.

“You’re more alert.” 

“Yes. I feel like I am actually here and able to think.”

Doyle grabbed an injector. “For pain,” she said. Trance gave a quick nod and Doyle pressed the silver device into her neck. There was a small pinch and the odd sensation of cold liquid spreading out under her skin from the site of the injection before dissipating. “You’ve been fever free for almost twenty-four hours. We estimate that at current rates of reduction, you will be virus free in two days. You are well and truly on the mend.” 

“Something to be grateful for.” The pain morphed into a fuzzy warmth, starting in her limbs and sweeping through the rest of her body, relaxing tense muscles. Soon, it was nothing more than the shadow of discomfort; a memory.

“Yes. Everyone will be excited to see you. Beka should here in a few minutes. While I have you alone and awake, I would like run physical tests to judge muscle strength” So far, she had avoided thinking about her condition. In small snippets of half-forgotten conversations she’d deduced that shortly after returning to Andromeda she’d contracted a virus, that she’d had a high fever, and that she had been unconscious for a significant amount of time. More than a few days meant a lengthy and onerous recovery for a human. What did it mean for a fallen star?

“Of course.”

Doyle placed her hand at a 90-degree angle a few centimeters above where Trance’s right hand rested. “Can you reach up and grab my hand?”

A simple command, a simple action, yet so difficult. She gritted her teeth and held her breath straining to reach, though the distance amounted to only a quarter meter. It was as if weights had been tied to her wrists while she slept. When she finally grabbed Doyle’s hand, her breath came out in a whoosh, and she coughed. Doyle gave her a moment to catch her breath then said, “Now, push against my hand with as much force as you can.” She repeated the process for the other arm, and then both legs. In the end, Trance’s cheeks were flushed from the effort and cool sweat evaporated along her hairline.

She tilted her head towards the cart, taking deep breaths to quiet her heart. “Can I get some water?” 

“Definitely.” Doyle helped her drink. After, she met Doyle’s sympathetic gaze with a wide eyed, unblinking, gaze of her own.

“How long was I out?”

Tiny canyons appeared on Doyle’s brow, body and gaze both shifting to the side. Trance studied her friend, reading the news in her body language. “Including these last three days where you have been in and out of consciousness, three weeks exactly,” she answered after a long pause, concerned hazel eyes meeting Trance’s again. Three weeks. 

“I’m not in great shape, am I?” she asked, more statement than question, making a conscious decision not to dwell on the time lost.

Doyle shook her head. “No. You have suffered extensive deconditioning despite our best efforts to prevent it. But, you are stronger than we could have hoped. We stepped down the respiratory nanobots last night, and your lungs are functioning well with minimal support, and your physical strength is greater than expected.”

Trance allowed a weak smile. “I guess I have a lot of work to do.”

“We do. You won’t be doing it alone. Rommie has been working with Harper on nanobots to help knit and strengthen your muscles as you use them and every one of us is ready to help you get back on your feet as soon as possible.”

“Hey Doyle, Rommie handed me a thermos of soup to bring down here as I was leaving Command?” Beka’s voice called out before Trance could say anything. “Feeling peckish?” Beka appeared in the entrance, a teasing grin on her face, bright blue eyes sparkling, blonde hair pulled away from her face in a half ponytail with long braids falling over her shoulders. She had been shopping too, wearing a black boat-neck t-shirt and a pair of hunter green cargo pants, creases still in them, hand comm and holster attached to a thick black belt. A braided leather choker hugged her neck. An overpowering sense of comfort and warmth filled Trance at the sight of her old friend’s face.

“I think it’s for me.”

Beka’s expression changed, a mixture of emotions playing across her face, fighting for dominance—a relieved sigh, a beaming grin, eyes flashing with intense love and concern. She rushed forward, thermos still in hand, and pulled Trance into a tight embrace, bending awkwardly over the bed. Trance closed her eyes, comfortable in her friend’s strong arms, breathing in Beka’s scent—soap mingled with the subtle mechanical essence of the Maru. Beka’s braids tickled her cheeks, and the thermos pressed into her shoulder blade, but she didn’t mind. “You’re awake. Actually awake.” Beka pulled away, surveying Trance’s face, hands still on her shoulders, thermos and all. “I’ve missed you so much. God, you have no idea.”

“I’m happy to see you too.” She couldn’t find the words to express the joy Beka’s solid presence gave her, or how her touch was a lifeline she hadn’t known she needed. She didn’t want to relinquish that comforting touch and Beka didn’t appear ready to let go either, reaching up and placing her free hand on Trance’s cheek.

“How long have you been awake? You look exhausted.”

“A few minutes. I am not sleepy, I don’t think. I mean, I don’t know what sleepy feels like. Just tired from the tests Doyle had me do.” She found that talking took a great deal of energy.

Andromeda’s appearance on the bedside cart gave her something else to focus on. “Trance, I had Beka bring a vegetable broth. It is imperative you eat solid food as soon as possible. I would like you to consume a little food and drink each time you are awake, even if you do not feel hungry. We will start with broth and add more as you can tolerate it.” Beka seemed to remember the thermos in her hand and pulled away, setting it on the cart. Andromeda continued to speak. “You have nanobots assisting with most bodily functions including digestion, but it might still be uncomfortable as your body takes over the process.”

Trance nodded. “Understood, thank you Rommie.”

Andromeda winked out. Doyle, who’d moved off to the side politely at Beka’s entrance stepped forward. With hand on Beka’s arm she asked, “Are you comfortable helping?”

Trance realized that Doyle was asking if Beka was all right feeding her. She looked away from her friends, cheeks flushing. She used to brush off her friend’s embarrassment when they were her patients. To her bemusement, Harper had turned almost the same shade of purple as her skin the first time she had to strip him down after a nasty plasma explosion in the engine room three weeks into her life on the Maru. Bathing him and helping him toilet during his recovery brought on paroxysms. She chalked it up to human sensitivity because she discovered during Beka’s first serious injury that she too was uneasy with having someone help her with basic self-care and hygiene. Now, facing her own loss of agency, she understood. She forced herself to look back at her friends, to tame her emotions. Some things just have to be.

“Yeah, I’ve got this. It’s not my first rodeo.” Beka told the Android.

“Okay. If you need anything, Rommie or I will be here. I will see you later Trance. It’s good to have you back.” She smiled before exiting the room, exhibiting her usual grace. Beka moved the chair closer to the bed, discarding the holo novel on the floor beside it. She sat down in the chair never taking her eyes off of Trance as if she were a mirage that would disappear behind a blink. How worried she must have been. Beautiful Beka, whose outer toughness didn’t do her heart justice, who loved more fiercely and with more loyalty than any human Trance had ever met. She hated that she’d added more pain to a bucket already overflowing with it.

“I’m sorry I worried you,” she said, trying to convey her sincerity in a voice that lacked expression from disuse. Beka grabbed her hand in both of hers, countenance softening. 

“Don’t apologize Trance. Please don’t. You are always the person sitting in this chair. After what we’ve put you through, let us take care of you. Worry about getting better, nothing else.” The words did little to soothe Trance’s unease, but she appreciated them. “Now, do you want to try this broth?”

Trance wrinkled her nose, disgusted despite Andromeda’s insistence she needed to eat. “No,” she answered in absolute honesty, “but I will try.”

“That’s my girl.”

******

“Hey Harper.” Trance’s soft, childlike voice interrupted his reading. He pulled his nose out of the slipfighter schematic he’d picked up from the university on Terazed earlier. Four years in Seefra had left him itching for technology. Despite spending three weeks repairing and upgrading Andromeda around the clock with access to technological marvels he hadn’t seen in years, he still hungered for more. His mind craved knowledge almost more than his body craved caffeine.

Trance, laying on her side, studied him, lips turned up in amusement. He pulled his legs off the foot of her bed and sat up giving her what he hoped was his most suave and dashing smile. Rommie declared her officially awake for four days ago, though in reality, she slept most of the time a result of both the sheer amount of healing she needed and a side effect of the muscle knitting nanobots. Like the others, he continued to visit and sit with her even in slumber. He figured it would continue until either Rommie released her, or she told them all to leave her alone. So far, she didn’t seem inclined to get rid of them.

“Good morning, sleeping beauty.” And she was beautiful, like a storybook character come to life, a wise elf straight out of Tolkienian fantasy with her fair skin, wide eyes, delicate hooked nose, and pointed ears. Her cheeks and lips had regained much of their color, the shadows beneath her eyes fading. Small tendrils of hair curled around her face, loosened from her braid during the day’s activities. The lights, turned down low while she slept, reflected off her sparkling skin, brilliant once again.

“What time is it?” she asked, kicking off her blanket and revealing she had changed into a pair of black leggings and a burgundy spaghetti strap shirt, both hanging loose, one shirt strap slipping off her shoulder. She hit the button to lift the head of the bed and rolled onto her back with some difficulty, sitting up supported with legs crossed in front of her like a monk in meditation. Harper realized a second too late to be inconspicuous that his eyes had widened and his mouth hung partly open. He snapped his mouth shut. She hadn't bared so much skin publically since trading purple for gold. It had been years since he’d seen her arms. The outsides were dusted with gold, fading to ivory in the centers, her shoulders and elbows highlighted in red with red bands, like bracelets, wringing her wrists. But, it wasn’t the remarkable beauty of her skin that shocked him. Trance’s perpetual presence in close quarters aboard the Maru and Andromeda had granted him a semblance of immunity to her good looks. It was the sharpness of her collarbone, the thinness of her arms and legs, and how he could count her ribs through the fabric of her shirt.

For a moment he was on Earth again, his older cousin sitting beside him warming herself by an outdoor fire, short hair the same color as Trance’s blowing in the wind. If her belly had ever been full in twenty years of life, it didn’t show on her skeletal frame. Almost all her daily food ration found its way into her two small children’s bowls. He’d stolen food for her. That too went to the children. At twenty-three, starvation robbed her of her life. A good woman and loving mother. Could her children have escaped Earth before its destruction? Not likely. Had they survived after he left Earth, the oldest would have only been eleven at its destruction.

“Harper?”

He shook himself out of the memory at the sound of Trance’s worried voice. These memories, so important to him, and yet so painful. Life on Earth had been a series of traumas infused with moments of glorious serendipity. He couldn’t have the good without the bad. “Sorry, I was somewhere else for a sec. It’s almost 2300.”

“I think I must be the only person who sleeps on Andromeda. You look drained, Seamus. You should be in bed.” Did she always have to stare at him that way, as if she were penetrating all his defenses and reading the story written on his soul? 

“I can’t sleep. And, since I spent all day on Tarazed, I didn’t catch you awake earlier.”

“My circadian rhythm is off. I’m awake all night and asleep all day. Rommie says it will get better. At least, she doesn’t think I’m nocturnal. Do you want to talk about it?” No. He wanted to talk about it as much as he needed another hole in his head. “I’m a good listener and a captive audience.”

“While you know how much I love having you, almighty golden one, as a captive audience, I don’t really want to talk about it. Besides, we’re supposed to be keeping things all rainbows and su… err… butterflies right now. No extra stress.” He saw he'd said the wrong thing immediate. Trance rolled her eyes; fingers tapped her thighs, lips pursed, nostrils flared. Way to go, Seamus. Doyle warned him she was growing frustrated down in Med Deck, grumpy even, though Doyle admitted it was hard to tell with Trance. She was smart enough to know they were withholding information from her on purpose. Now he’d confirmed suspicions. Not that he agreed with Dylan.

“Not everything is rainbows and sunshine. That is not reality.” Her voice reflected a level of irritability that must have been building—Just today? Since waking up? “I have missed three weeks, do you know what that is like?” she asked. He shrugged, unable to come up with an answer. No, he didn’t know what it was like and he didn’t think she would appreciate being reminded that Dylan woke up after three-hundred-years. In comparison, three-weeks wasn’t much. It was the only semi-comforting thing he could think of to say and it would either anger or depress her; possibly both. “And you can say the word ‘sunshine’ around me. I will not break. I was that, now I am this. We live in space, it would be impractical to avoid every reference to suns and stars.”

In every version of Trance this tone meant danger. He threw his hands up in front of him. “Hey, it wasn’t my choice to keep things from you. Beka and I both thought it was a bad idea.”

With a sigh, she said, “I know. It’s Dylan trying to protect me. I’m just frustrated. No one will talk about anything of consequence and I am bored just sitting here six hours a day with nothing to occupy my mind. The highlight of my day today was going shopping with Beka and Rommie through their hand comms and taking a shower.”

A clever one-liner about how taking a shower with Trance would be the highlight of his day danced on his tongue, but he bit it back, cognizant of the promise he made her the night she opened her eyes. Unconscious, she had heard nothing, so logic dictated that he didn’t have to change his behavior, but something about Trance always made him hold himself to a higher standard. Not that much higher, but higher. 

“I don’t blame you for being frustrated, I would be too,” he said instead.

“I can’t even take care of my plants.” Danger had morphed into dejection, her lips forming a pout, nose twitching. “I can only walk a few steps holding onto someone, and I can’t stand long either. I know I should be grateful. Without the nanobots you helped Rommie program it would take a month to get as far as I have, not four days. It’s just…” She took a deep breath and exhaled slowly, looking down at her hands. “I don’t like this.”

Without asking permission, he stood and took a seat on the bed facing her, crossing his legs in front of him, hands in his lap, mirroring her position. She raised her chin and met his eyes, hers glistening.

“Listen, I’m not good at this and you know it. But, I brought you something that might help.” From the cart, he picked up a shimmering red gift bag. The change was instant. Her shoulders danced in anticipation, curiosity overtaking despondency, eyes wide in childlike wonder, a surprised smile forming.

“What is it?” He placed the bag between them.

“Take a look.” She dug in, pulling out a stack of flexis, tied together with a red ribbon. With raised eyebrows, she untied the ribbon and turned on the first flexi. That gasp, those parted lips and sparkling eyes were all he needed.

“This is the Library’s database on Vedran flora and fauna. Is this all of it?”

“Yep. It’s all there, everything they have that isn’t in Rommie’s databases. I can’t take full credit, though, as much as I want to have been the amazing, wondrous, human being solely responsible for that gorgeous smile. It was Doyle’s idea to find you some new reading materials, and after Dylan told her one of Andromeda's key roles would be aiding in Tarn Vedra’s restoration, I knew what to look for and who to talk to. It’s surprising the friendships you make when you yell at a roomful of scientists after almost having your brain stolen.”

“Well, thank you both. This is amazing.” He watched her mind fire up, plans being made behind a wrinkled forehead, ideas flickering in the depths of her eyes, problems buried for a time. “I can’t wait to cross reference with our current databases and locate specimens we can reintroduce as atmospheric and weather patterns stabilize. Orlund mentioned a seed bank in the tunnels on Tarn Vedra. I need to get a message to him…”

“But this is _not_ work, it’s just some light reading, right?” he interrupted, raising an eyebrow. She looked up and winked, flashing a conspiratorial grin.

“Yes, just some light reading. This means a lot, Harper.” Heat rose in his cheeks. He shifted his gaze, watching her in his peripheral vision. He was growing soft in his old age.

“There’s one more thing in there.” From the bottom of the bag, she pulled out a flat item about the length of her hand wrapped in shiny blue packaging. Three, two, one… he counted down. 

“Chocolate?” She smelled the packaged and then flipped it over a few times, looking for all the universe like he had just handed her the Hegemon’s Heart. Mission accomplished. “Harper, this is real. How? It’s so expensive.” He shrugged.

“I had Doyle act as lookout and ran really really fast,” he said as seriously as he could, locking gazes, “It almost turned into a gunfight.” 

Her eyes narrowed. “You’re lying,” she said with the under-text of ‘please tell me you didn’t steal this chocolate because it isn’t entirely out of character.’ He laughed, feeling it rise unexpectedly from deep within his belly.

“I am. When Dylan told us we could have shore leave on our last day here what he didn’t tell us was that he had somehow convinced the Triumvirs we deserved a year’s back pay on top of the sizeable bonus they were already forwarding us for defeating both the Nietzscheans and the Magog, in just two days, I might add. I mean, we’re not own-your-own-planet-rich, but I know I’ve never had this much money at once in my entire life. You should check your bank account when you get the chance.”

Trance’s expression changed, becoming contemplative. He squirmed under her scrutiny. Seamus Harper wasn’t known for spending a lot of money on elaborate gifts, especially consumables. As he had many times since meeting her, he wondered if she was a secret empath, not just able to guess at his motivations and feelings, but read them. That was a scary thought.

“You still didn’t have to buy me chocolate,” she stated with a hint of wonder.

“No, I didn’t. I wanted to. You didn’t get to go down to the planet and visit the botanical gardens. You always spent hours there before, and I know how much you and Beka like going shopping together. Something tells me a hand comm doesn’t cut it. A little chocolate is a small compensation for… well, everything.”

Her fingers deftly unwrapped the foil. Its exquisite fragrance wafted into the air. His mouth watered. Real chocolate, unsynthesized, made from cacao beans and Terran sugar cane. She sat with it cupped in her hands, eyes closed, inhaling deeply. His stomach growled loud enough for her to hear and a soft chuckle escaped her. A sweet sound, like a small bell ringing out on a crisp winter’s night, dancing across the snow.

“Share this with me,” she said.

“Trance, no. It’s for you, a gift.” He was embarrassed his stomach had given away how much he wanted it. Even he had enough social grace not to give a gift and expect to benefit from it. She broke a piece two fingers width off the bar and held it in front of him.

“Please. I know you bought none for yourself. It would make me happy to share it.” Typical Trance. He should have expected this. Worse, he didn’t want to turn her down. He could already taste on his tongue. With a sheepish sigh, he took it from her.

“Thanks.”

She took a bite, and he followed. Oh God, the taste, there was nothing like it in the Triangulum Galaxies. How much would it cost to buy a cacao tree for hydroponics? He could charge for the chocolate it produced to recuperate some of the cost, except for Trance, since she’d be the one keeping it alive...

“Harper?” she asked interrupting his plotting—which was a terrible idea if he were being honest with himself — drawing out the last syllable of his name.

“Yeah?”

“How did we defeat the Magog?” She asked, locking gazes with him. He should have expected this, too.

“Trance, we all promised Dylan we wouldn’t talk to you about it,” he replied, figuring the truth was his only defense.

“Please. We spent a month in dry dock. Andromeda must have been almost dead in the water. How could we have won? I won’t ask anything more. I need to know.”

He made a snap decision. While Dylan thought he was protecting her from stress, he didn’t know her the way he and Beka did. It would benefit them more to tell her. “Honestly, babe, it’s a total mystery. I was in the Weapons Control Room trying to give Dylan anything he could throw at the Magog. It wasn’t looking great. I thought our number had finally come up, and we were goners for good this time when it decided to be a good little Worldship and self-destruct.” 

“It blew up?” She put the chocolate down on the wrapper, frowning.

“Hey, I’m all for the Magog offing themselves. If you could dance, I’d throw a party.” Not that they hadn’t celebrated, but with Trance on Med Deck, Earth destroyed, all the casualties from the battle, and Andromeda limping drydock in need of massive repairs it had been a smidgen less fun than a wake. He didn’t let on that he, too, found the explosion suspicious. He was probably already in trouble with Andromeda for ‘causing undue stress’ against Dylan’s orders. “We won, there is no reason to worry.”

“How did it blow up? Tell me exactly.” Trance was drilling down to something, a theory.

“I wasn’t on Command and I haven’t felt a burning need to relive the battle, but Dylan said it looked like a sun went supernova, only this time it destroyed the Worldship because we’d taken out most of the worlds already.”

“They did it,” she whispered, no longer talking to him. “But, why? Because the Magog weren’t under their control?”

“Trance, who are you talking ab…” Oh crap. Who else could have done it? “Your people.” 

“I need to talk to Dylan.”

Of course she did. She told Dylan everything and Harper nothing, he thought.

“Dylan is still awake, would you like me to get him for you?” Andromeda asked, appearing beside them. Andromeda’s penchant for hearing everything and popping up to offer her assistance uninvited had stopped shocking him long ago.

“Yes, please. I don’t think this should wait.” Before leaving, the hologram gave him a pointed look, an unspoken lecture on following Captain’s orders.

“I guess I’ll go try to get some sleep.” He tried to keep the disappointment out of his voice as he made to leave, swinging his legs off the bed. Trance grabbed his arm, grip weak.

“Stay.” A single word with massive implications. He stopped, the weight of her hand on his arm holding him there. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw her face, a mask of sincerity and maybe a little bit of hope. This was an olive branch extended, an invitation into her secret world; she wanted him to take it. After a beat, he turned back around and resumed his original position, hoping that she could read his gratitude because, for once, he had no words.


	8. Lambent Kith

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter is heavily influenced by Rober Hewitt Wolfe's Coda, a one act story written after Andromeda's completion that lays out the showrunner's original plan for the series before he was fired halfway through Season 2. You can find it and read it here if you are interested:
> 
> http://www.roberthwolfe.com/Coda/Andromeda___Coda.pdf
> 
> This chapter was difficult for me as I tried to pull together three different versions of Trance into one solid backstory. Hopefully, it worked out.

He had been in the shower when Andromeda appeared to tell him Trance needed to speak with him about the Magog Worldship; the steam making her holographic image seem even more insubstantial. It was already a late night for him, and the interruption had not been welcome. Given the lateness of the hour, it didn’t take long to figure out who Trance had been talking to. Harper would win no awards for keeping his mouth shut. This had been an eventuality, an inevitability. Still, he’d hoped Harper would hold on until she was physically stronger. It would be better for her to face her physical demons before battling mental ones, but that was too much to ask of the universe, or Harper it would seem. 

Hair wet, wearing black gym shorts and a red tank top—the first clothes he found—he descended the final ladder to Med Deck and crossed through the door. He expected Trance to be alone, but beyond the partition he saw two shadows on the bed, partially obscured by foliage, facing each other, their voices rising and falling in a soft-spoken conversation. 

So, he was right. Harper had spilled the beans. When Harper disobeyed orders for Harper reasons, Dylan preferred to take time to compose his thoughts before confronting him. Harper usually made it easy, making himself scarce until ordered to appear, a well-honed sense of self preservation taking over. _Not tonight_ , Dylan thought, irritated.

“Ah, Mr. Harper, just the man I wanted to see,” he said as he crossed into the partition. They both turned their heads, Harper grimacing at the reprimand in Dylan’s tone.

“Dylan,” Trance cut him off, a hint of warning loaded into his name, eyes hardening into rounds of agate; not harsh or angry, but stern, a look his mother would have been proud of. Sometimes she appeared as young as Harper, and others much older than himself. This was one of the latter. In these times he wondered who was in charge between the two of them. Just a part of her mystery. He tilted his head towards her, encouraging her to continue. “I made him tell me. You should not have kept it from me.”

He wanted to argue that he was doing what he thought best, his prerogative as captain and friend. But, she no doubt understood his intentions, yet still admonished him. And, she was right. If his theory about who destroyed the Worldship proved correct, Andromeda might be in danger and only Trance out of the five-hundred souls onboard understood the threat. Any other crew member and he would not have hesitated. He needed to ask Andromeda to step in and play Devil’s Advocate.

“You’re right. I shouldn’t have. Andromeda said you wanted to talk about the Worldship.” He raised an eyebrow at Harper who defied expectation again by remaining in place, sitting cross-legged on the foot of Trance’s bed. She took a sip from a metal cup either oblivious to Dylan’s concern, or choosing to ignore it. Dylan guessed the latter, not much escaped Trance’s notice. He took his lead from her and accepted Harper’s presence. It was her story to tell.

“Yes. It is time to tell you everything. No more secrets,” she said. He watched her lock her eyes with Harper as she spoke the last words as if she meant them for him. 

So, he was here at her request. Interesting. 

Her gaze then shifted between the two of them. “This is the story of the birth and death of our universe, of who I am and who the Lambent Kith Nebula are. I’ve wanted to tell you so many times. Every time you pressured me, Harper, and every time you needed more answers Dylan, but I couldn’t. It would have put us all in danger. Now, I fear, there is more danger in not knowing. My people work in secret, tying invisible strings to major players across the Universe. If you are not aware of them, or even looking for them, they will catch you in their web.”

“And this story, the story of our universe, explains why your people destroyed the Magog Worldship?” Dylan pressed.

“Not exactly. I cannot be sure they were responsible for the Worldship, but nothing else makes sense. This story explains what might have motivated them to do so.”

“Oh good, I love scary bedtime stories.” Harper quipped. Trance gave him a sympathetic smile and Dylan did the same. He remembered the shock he felt when Trance first revealed herself to him. While the rest of the crew understood she was the avatar of Tarn Vedra’s sun now, and some of what she had been capable of, it was still a lot to absorb.

“Dylan, you may want to sit. I have a lot to explain.” He pulled up the arm chair and took a seat.

“Are you sure you are up to this?”

“Yes, I will be fine.” She put her cup on the cart and settled deeper into the backrest of the bed. Dylan leaned forward, elbows on his knees. Harper, too, leaned in. She took a deep breath and spoke with the air of a wizened storyteller, “In the beginning, there was singularity, and there was nothing.”

“Wait, you mean the ‘in the beginning God created Heaven and the Earth’ beginning? The big bang? Were you there?” Harper asked, eyes narrow, studying Trance, a woman who didn’t look a day over 26. She frowned, squaring her shoulders. 

“I’m not _that_ old. Dylan might have been there as Paradine, but I wasn’t. At least, not the part of me that is here with you right now.” Her gaze, now trained on Dylan, was penetrating, searching deep inside him for the key to unlock his past. He shifted under her scrutiny. She told him before that the Paradine may have had a hand creating this universe, but he had no recollection of it. It caused tension between them. She so certain of his role in this universe, and he unable to or unwilling to accept it. Harper transferred his wide eyed surprise to Dylan. 

“Hey, I was raised on Tarn Vedra. I don’t remember the beginning of the universe either,” he said, holding his hands up in front of him. Trance allowed a soft smile, conceding to him, before starting again.

“That is neither here nor there. I like you analogy, Harper, so I will use it. In the beginning there was Heaven, and there was nothing. But, not really nothing, because there were other universes. They aren’t important just yet.” Her cadence reminded Dylan of his favorite professor at the High Guard Academy, how he’d woven the pieces of a story together, revealing just enough to keep students interested. The best history class he’d ever taken. “In Heaven, matter and energy lived together, bound tightly there by a force called Love.”

“Love?” Dylan asked. Trance shrugged.

“That is the best translation I have in Common. Love with a capital ‘L’. Love held everything together, it was the embodiment of peace and harmony, of order. Under Love’s control, Heaven was a place where nothing changed. It was boring. Stagnant. And it remained that way for time immeasurable, but in this place of order, something new took hold, a force unfamiliar to Love.”

“Like hate?” Harper chimed in.

“No, not hate. Love and hate are two sides of the same coin. This was something unexpected and unrelated. Boredom. Some of the matter and energy grew tired of this idle and lifeless existence. They formed distinct personalities and became adversarial, fighting back. In response, individuals rose on Love’s side. And then war broke out.”

“A war in Heaven? Devils and angels and stuff like that?” Harper asked. Dylan shared Harper’s disbelief.

“Yes, in a matter of speaking.” She coughed and cleared her throat. They sat in silence as she sipped water and adjusted herself to a more comfortable position. Her eyes closed for a moment, a small knot of pain forming on her forehead.

Dylan reached out and put a hand on her knee. “Are you alright?” She nodded and opened her eyes. He wanted to hear this story, but not at the expense of her health, even if it meant she might not be so refreshingly open in the future.

“Yes. The nanos are working and it makes my muscles ache that is all. Let’s keep going,” she replied, determined.

“Wait, before you move on, I need to know something.” Harper sounded like a man with a theory he didn’t want substantiated. “You said the part of you that is here right now wasn’t there at the beginning, but you are an avatar, so that means your sun _was_ there. What side were you on?” 

She raised an eyebrow and fidgeted under his gaze, shoulders twisting back and forth. “You know the answer to that, Harper. Think about it.”

“The tail. The horned headpiece....” Harper’s mouth fell open. Trance tilted her head to the side and held a hand, palm up, in front of her as if to say ‘there you have it’. “So, you were basically the Devil? Freaky.” 

Trance giggled, a soft, bubbly sound. Dylan laughed too, agreeing with Harper’s assessment. This was all freaky. Red rose in the younger man’s cheeks. 

“To tell you the truth, the tail has nothing to do with Heaven, or what came after. The Tarn Vedran sun and I were never the same, but that is for later. So, there was a war in Heaven. We won. Then we blew it up.”

“You blew up Heaven?” Dylan asked. He knew she was telling the truth even before saying anything. Something stirred inside him, an awareness, a part of him he was not familiar with.

“Yes.” Harper leaned back away from Trance, his eyes narrowed, nose wrinkled, clearly uneasy.

“Out of boredom? You blew up Heaven because you were _bored_?” Something passed between the two of them that Dylan couldn’t read, but Trance’s eyes sparkled in amusement, and Harper squirmed, his eyes darting towards a pile of flexis on the bedside cart and then back to Trance.

“Humans have a saying, _idle hands do the Devil’s work_ ,” she said with a shrug. “There was no life in Heaven. Chaos is life. It is beauty. It is everything. We wanted sentience, excitement… explosions. We wanted to live. After blowing up Heaven, the Lucifers drew matter and energy towards themselves and they burned so brightly. From them came everything, infused with their energy, their lifeforce.” We. The Lucifers. Dylan noted that she switched back and forth, sometimes separate, sometimes including herself, her identity torn. Andromeda, a ship, full lost souls searching for themselves.

“I bet Love wasn’t too happy with all of this exploding and burning business.” Harper said.

“No. And it worked hard to bring back its version of order and the eternal dance started. Love pulled everything back into singularity, the Lucifers blew it up.” She pulled her hands together, two fists kissing, and then pushed them apart, palms out, fingers splayed. “Expansion and contraction. Over and over. But each time it happened, Love grew more resentful. Then, it manifested itself in the universe as the Lucifers had. They named it Enigma.”

“The Abyss.” Dylan said, voice hushed as if he feared his enemy would return if he spoke its name aloud, as if it were a spell, and he a child tempting fate by chanting its name three times in the mirror.

“Yes, the Abyss. After it manifested itself, the cycle moved more quickly. The Lucifers were at a loss on how to stop it. So, the cycle continued, growing shorter each time. We feared that it would trap us and we would never shine again. Then this last time, the time we live in now, something changed.” She paused taking a deep breath and shifting her position again. Dylan fought the urge to ask her, again, if she was all right. He had to trust she would tell them if she needed anything. To regain her confidence, she needed to be in control of her recovery. He had learned a lot from her over the last year.

“What changed?” Harper asked. She met Dylan’s eyes, and he had to will himself not to fidget under the weight of her gaze.

“This part of the story is something you, Dylan, could tell if you could remember.” Again. He didn’t know how to make himself remember. He didn’t know why he didn’t remember. The answer to his heritage lay behind a door, locked, with no keyhole. Hell, he didn’t even know where to find the knob. 

“But I don’t, so you will have to enlighten me.” His tone was sharper than intended, earning a raised eyebrow from Harper. Trance, reading his frustration, tilted her head in gracious acceptance, no offense taken.

“This is where those other universes come in. There are an infinite number of universes, some of them accessible by the Route of Ages, most not. Some universes are bursting with light and life, some are dead, and others dying. These universes aren’t connected, and they are almost impossible to travel between, but sometimes a species advances enough to figure it out.” She moved her gaze between them, asking with her eyes if they were following. Dylan remained silent, as did Harper, engrossed once again. “You have to understand that while this cycle happens over and over again, the same worlds, the same species, aren’t born every time. In the cosmic scheme of things, organic life is insignificant.”

“I don’t feel insignificant.” Harper snapped, bitterness evident. Trance reached out and grabbed Harper’s hand, her eyes looking first down at where their hands met, and then up in his eyes, hers flickering in the light. If only there were a psychologist anywhere in the Tri-Galaxies qualified enough to take on the darkest thoughts and feelings of his crew. Not for the first time, he wished Rev Bem were still here.

“I do not think you are. That is why I fought so hard to stop the Abyss. All life comes to an end, that is the way of the universe, but it should come to a natural end.” She squeezed his hand and let go, then took a deep breath and let it out in a long sigh. A look, like guilt, passed over her face, a single cloud crossing the summer sun. And then, her default smile snapped into place again.

“In one of these dying universes one species, a powerful species, realized that their society would perish. So, the Vedrans traveled to our universe towards the beginning of this dance, maybe eight billion years ago.”

“The Vedrans? You have got to be kidding.” Harper’s jaw dropped, morphing into a knitted brow an instant later.

“You mean to tell me that the Vedrans, our Vedrans, had the power to move between universes at will, without the Route of Ages?” Sure, Vedrans were traveling the stars when humans were still figuring out that if you rubbed two sticks together you created fire. They were capable of massive technological marvels, as demonstrated by the Seefra system, but Dylan had seen no indication they had been able to cross from one universe to another on a whim.

“No, Dylan, not at all. The Vedrans came to our universe searching for a place where their genetic code could take root and grow. I hardly understand it myself, but organic species cannot survive long in a universe other than that of their birth. Sentient beings that can exist as energy fare better, but still cannot live indefinitely. But, any being can seed a universe with the blueprint of its species and hope it takes root.”

“So you're saying the Vedrans just walked in, dropped off some sort of program to make people just like them, and went back to their dying universe?” Harper asked.

“It was more involved than that. The Vedrans understood that the stars were sentient and reached out to them. It horrified them to learn of The Abyss. This universe had everything needed for their species to thrive. So, some of the Vedrans went back to their universe to search for a solution. If the Abyss were defeated, this universe would live until its natural end. They found their solution in an ally called…” Here she sang a few notes reminding Dylan of the captive whales his father took him to see as a boy. Such a beautiful and alien language. His brain translated her words before she did. How? When did he learn the language of the stars?

“Could you repeat that? I didn’t quite catch it.” Harper joked, ever the sarcastic one.

“I never lied to you when I said you wouldn’t be able to pronounce my people’s name. The best translation in common is...”

“People of the Light. The Lambent Kith.” Two sets of eyes turned towards him, two lined foreheads, two pairs of parted lips. Almost identical expressions of surprise on his crew members’ faces. Trance overcame her shock first, forehead smoothing, head tilting to the side, eyes searching his face. He patted his knees and shook his head, no explanation available. She did not to press it though her eyes remained on him as she spoke again.

“Yes, People of the Light. While they started as an organic species, they evolved into a people that could exist in organic form and transform into pure energy. The Vedrans suggested that they might form a symbiotic relationship, a bond, with the celestial bodies of this universe. The Lucifers did not agree at first to share their bodies and minds, but soon saw the benefits of being able to command organic bodies. With organic bodies they could manipulate events in their favor as they unfolded and defeat the Abyss once and for all.”

“But, you said even species that can exist as energy can’t live in a new universe indefinitely.” Harper pointed out.

“No, they can’t. The life of a universe measures in billions of years. The Lambent Kith, now avatars of the suns, moons, and planets of this universe would die long before they predicted the Abyss would make its move. Still, they came over, bonded with the suns, and created a society much like the one they left behind, ruled by an Empress. She bonded with the sun that watched over the world the Vedrans planted their DNA on.”

“I am having a hard time wrapping my brain around all this. It’s remarkable, but I still don’t understand why your people would destroy the Magog. How is this relevant?” Dylan asked.

“Yeah, and how does the Nebula play into all this?”

“It is relevant because of what happened next. The Lambent Kith would live only a few billion years at most in this universe. The Abyss wouldn’t make its move until much later, so they did what any species does to ensure its continuation, they had children. The Empress conceived first. She gave birth to twins, one male and one female. The Kith bound her son to a star that watched over an important world and her daughter remained bound to her mother’s sun—the sun she would be avatar for after her mother’s death. They celebrated the birth of the girl destined to rule and defeat the Abyss. But when the twins were still small children, the Paradine appeared.

“They came from a future where the Abyss was winning. They told the Empress that no one foresaw how slow the children born to the First Ones—that is what we call those who traveled here—would age. When the Abyss made its move, the oldest children would be just growing out of adolescence. They would be old, yes, but also childlike, innocent, and chaos loving. The Abyss would use their innocence against them. The children needed guidance, mature adults with their powers who could help them decide the proper moves to make. A combination of wisdom and maturity. Otherwise, it would be like putting 23-year-old Harper in charge of the Commonwealth.”

“Hey, I would have made a great leader.” They all laughed though more out of expectation than true humor. Here they were, mere mortals, learning the ways of the Gods.

“The solution the Paradine came up with was to engineer avatars who would mature faster. They gave the Nebula life and also created the Council of Moons and the System of Planets to advise them. But something went terribly wrong.” Trance’s voice cracked, and she coughed. Dylan handed her the cup of water, though he understood that the cough was a cover for her emotions, never as hidden as she thought they were. She took it with a nod and sipped at it, buying time to collect herself. For the most part, Harper was still with them with the telltale lines above his nose that were always present when he processed large amounts of information.

Trance stayed silent, and no one broke the silence, gifting her with a small amount of control in a life she had little control over at the moment. Poor Trance. All those times he’d chided her for giving up, for running away, for not presenting him with a glass half full. He never took the time to notice, or tell her, how brave she was. He assumed the golden warrior who traded places with her younger self didn’t have the same vulnerabilities. She came to them a soldier, and he treated her like one, forgetting she was the same person. She put the water down, took a deep breath and started again.

“The Paradine and the First Ones thought the Nebula incorruptible. They didn’t understand that the moons and planets were so much weaker than the suns they would have no voice against the Nebula. The Abyss knew. I do not know when Enigma infected the Nebula with its darkness, but I believe it was already there when the heiress and two of her sisters matured enough to take their promised places on the council. The Nebula forced them to become of one mind, taking away their power and individuality, harshly punishing any sign of free will.”

“So, your sun destroyed the Abyss, but the Nebula is now, what, carrying its torch?” Dylan asked, not sure he wanted to hear the answer.

“In a word, yes. Though I cannot tell you what the end goal might be. Perhaps they merely crave power, perhaps something more. I do know that they removed all other Paradine, they removed the heiress’ power, they converted and cowed her sisters, and now I believe they have removed the Magog, the last vestiges of the Abyss. Nothing stands in their way. The light of our universe has become its greatest darkness.”

“I guess we should be grateful they didn’t destroy the Andromeda while they were at it.” Dylan grumbled, mind working overtime to try and make sense of everything.

Harper looked to Dylan, then to Trance—her shoulders slumped, eyes downcast, and lips drawn into a deep frown—then back to Dylan again.

“They wouldn’t have killed Trance, though. I mean, they would if they wanted to create a martyr, but they don’t. Regents can’t outright kill their charges, they have to be more creative than that,” he said, and Dylan saw he had come to the same conclusion about Trance’s identity. The Vedran sun. The daughter of the Empress. 

The younger man turned his attention to Trance again. She avoided his gaze. In a much softer voice, one filled with a level of empathy Dylan hadn’t realized Harper possessed, he said, “That’s why they punished you by taking your powers instead of taking your life, because you are the Queen of the Universe, aren’t you?”

A tear slipped down her cheek, followed by another. She blinked to stop more from falling and shook her head, eyes focused on something behind Harper’s head. “Not anymore I’m not.”

_Damnit._

They defeated the Abyss, and as usual, something bigger and badder took its place. 'It's never easy' didn't even seem big enough to cover this.

 

********************

“Harper,” Rhade called as he rounded the corner to see the other man walking the opposite direction. Harper stopped, turning around, posture slumped, head bent, a man with an invisible weight dragging him down. Rhade tapped the flexi he held on his thigh, debating whether this would ease his friend’s burden or add to it. Did it matter when he was leaving early in the morning to return to his family? He needed to pass it on now before he left. In any case, Harper’s troubles were not his own.

“Rhade, fancy meeting you here at 0100 hours.”

“I was working on the backlog of communications data before I left for Tarazed in the morning. I came across something that might interest you. Andromeda told me you were down here with Trance. Is she awake? I fear I will miss her in the morning and would like to say goodbye.”

Harper took a few steps towards him, stopping at arms length. He shrugged his shoulders and one side of his mouth twitched into a sad imitation of a smile. “She is and probably will be for a while, but I don’t think she’s in the mood to talk. She… well... It’s nothing. Rommie just brought her dinner and kicked Dylan and I out, but you are more than welcome to try your luck. I’m sure she will want to see your ugly mug before you leave.” The insult came out passionless, spoken out of habit.

“Are you okay?” Rhade asked, eyes narrowed, finding this lack of energy unnerving.

“Why wouldn’t I be?” Harper kept his glassy-eyed gaze focused on something beyond Rhade’s shoulder. Rhade gave up, too tired to pry into the workings of Harper’s mind, his own already on Tarazed with his wife and children.

“Well, whatever is bothering you, perhaps this will take your mind off it.” He passed the flexi to Harper who scanned it, narrowed his eyes, pulled the flexi closer and scanned again, wrinkles forming on his forehead.

“No way,” he muttered, looking up at Rhade as if to confirm his eyes worked. “The Earth Resistance; this is their code, their mark.”

Rhade nodded. “I thought you’d want to see it. I found that transmission in the noise following Earth’s destruction. We almost didn’t notice it was there.”

Harper looked down at the flexi again and then back to Rhade. Perhaps all he needed was a distraction, energy levels climbing before Rhade’s eyes.

“Hey, um, it was nice knowing you. Have fun at home. Say hello to the kiddies. Give your wife a big kiss. I gotta go!” he said before taking off running. Rhade watched him climb a ladder at the end of the corridor and shook his head, a smile tugging at his lips. Now, to see about saying goodbye to the only person more of a mystery to him than Harper—but not by much.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for sticking with this bridge. I am not one-hundred percent pleased with it, and I am probably going to keep working on it, but the story could not continue. Another update next week with much more Trance and Harper in it.


	9. Hope

Trance sat alone on her bunk on the Eureka Maru, legs crossed in front of her, hands on her knees, palms up in a meditative pose. Eyes closed, she searched for the images that haunted her dreams, the cause of the hot tears that rolled unchecked down her cheeks. Like the ghosts that haunted old ships and homes, these images remained illusive. All she saw behind her closed lids was darkness, and all she felt was a pervasive sense of loss and sorrow. It pressed at her heart and drove the air from her lungs. Strange these dreams that slipped from memory like water down a drain, that held no visions of the future, that made her feel, yet defied understanding.

 _I need to calm down_ , she thought, _It was just a dream._ She opened her eyes. Abandoned on the floor beside the bunk lay a flexi, still open to the colorful diagram she had been reading before her body betrayed her, the only thing out of place in the orderly berthing chamber—provided no one climbed up to Harper’s bunk. She picked at her black leggings, hands moving, as they often did, as if possessed of their own life. Her arms shimmered in the perpetual dimness of her bunk. She focused on the way the sparkles caught the light, brightening the room. Even in darkness, the potential for light existed. She might no longer be Lambent Kith, but her skin still shined like her sun, the light of the universe.

She closed her eyes. This time, when confronted with the darkness she imagined a tiny flame floating in front of her. She fed it with her life-force, her energy, and it grew larger and brighter until it encompassed her, warming her. Now, she imagined the silent void filled with the voices of her friends. Slowly, the sense of loss faded and with it some of the sorrow.

 _I am not alone_. _My dreams are not real and I must not dwell on them. Though there is darkness all around me, the light is there, too. I am the light. It is within me. It is inside all I love. There is nowhere that light cannot be born._

The sound of distant footsteps tore her from her meditation. When she opened her eyes, the tears were dry. She peered into the galley though the steps sounded near the airlock.

“Hello?” These footsteps could herald the coming of any of her friends. Andromeda had declared her improved enough to return to quarters early in the morning. It didn’t mean much, only that she no longer required intensive monitoring on Med Deck and could perform self-care and hygiene tasks independently. That, and Andromeda had recognized her growing desperation to be anywhere but Med Deck. Though they accepted Andromeda’s assessment of her condition, her friends still worried and Rommie, Doyle, and Dylan had each made appearances, as if on a schedule, after Beka walked her to the Maru, a sack of Trance’s belonging slung over one shoulder, an arm wrapped around her waist to provide support.

Their hearts were in the right place, and they had a point. She wasn’t capable of caring for herself yet. Even so, she found the frequent inquiries into her well being irritating, though politeness and consideration for their feelings kept her from saying anything. After a week of constant monitoring and supervision, she longed for even a semblance of privacy and independence. For that, they needed to trust her to tell them if she required help.

_I have to remember this the next time Harper or Beka disobeys my orders to rest._

“Trance?” Harper’s questioning voice echoed through the Maru’s halls, as if on queue. The footsteps quickened, and he came into view a moment later, standing in the open porthole separating the galley from the berthing chamber. Speaking of not resting... His plain black t-shirt may have been clean and new two days ago but now hung on his stocky frame wrinkled and stained. His hair lay flat on one side and spiked wildly on the other. Stubble poked out of his chin, tiny blonde soldiers standing at attention. Shadows like those she’d seen in the mirror this morning stretched out under bloodshot blue eyes. His raised eyebrows showed genuine surprise at finding her on the Maru. He hadn’t come to check on her. Was she relieved or disappointed? “Andromeda told me she let you go this morning, but I thought you were in your quarters. I was gonna stop by after dinner. How are you feeling?”

“I wanted to be on the Maru. Beka brought me over this morning. I am feeling much better.” In truth, her muscles ached from the short walk to the Maru. Even after using the lifts with Beka supporting most of her weight, the exercise had been too much. But, Harper didn’t need to know the details. “You haven’t been to see me in two days,” she said, falling into the old habit of deflecting attention from herself, an effective strategy with Harper who never missed a chance to talk about himself.

He avoided her gaze, watching her through the corner of his eye as he crossed to the bunk across from hers and plopped down, scooting backward until his back pressed against the wall, as far from her as possible in such a small space. He remained silent. She waited, studying him, watching the micro expressions on his face; the twitching of his lips, hair-thin lines forming around his eyes. Guilty. Concerned. She said nothing. He would speak soon, silence being a foreign entity in his perpetually loud world.

“I’m sorry, Trance, I really am. I know how it must look right after you told me so much about yourself. It has nothing to do with you, honest.” He finally looked up, meeting her gaze, his eyes unwavering. An unspoken plea. _Please accept my words. You didn’t scare me away. I still care._

“I know,” she said. He heaved a sigh, shoulders and posture relaxing, forehead smoothing out, the downward curve of his lips returning to neutral.  “I worried when you didn’t come, so I asked Beka. She said you were working on something in the machine shop and you weren’t talking to anyone, not even Doyle. She didn’t have any details.”

“No, I suppose she didn’t.” Cryptic. He either didn’t want to talk about it, or he wanted her to ask. Which was it today? His expression gave away no clues, and no visions came to help her decide. The hardest part about life now was not the pain, weakness, or exhaustion, though all of those things were difficult. It was being trapped on one plane, unable to follow the branches of her choices before committing to them in reality. Sure, in the grand scheme of things, choosing what to say to comfort a friend was insignificant, but eventually she would be on Command again, battle waging. What would she do then? How many would pay the price for her inability to make informed decisions?  

_Stop it._

The silence stretched between them, a desert plain filled with years of words unsaid. Guilt on both sides. But, it was her fault, not his. It had been a conscious decision to push him away, to be a friend, but not a close one. A shield to protect him from the Nebula. A shield that only worked if it remained invisible. The Nebula, and she a part of it, did not make friends with organics. They certainly didn’t love them—it didn’t matter the type. The Nebula considered them precious pets, useful as diversions and tools, nothing more. Beneath them. Insignificant. If they had discovered how much he meant to her, how often she had changed her plans—No, _their_ plans—to protect him...

 _Stop_ _it._

She’d told him everything. Did this knowledge replace that shield, or was her presence here still a danger to him? A danger to everyone, both the friends who understood it and accepted it, and the innocents assigned to Andromeda, along for the ride, unaware of who walked among them.

_Stop!_

She picked at her leggings again, rubbing the soft fabric between her thumb and pointer finger. “Do you want to talk about it?” she asked, deciding, unable to bear her thoughts any longer, these patterns becoming more frequent and more invasive as the realities of her new life unfolded around her.

“If you tell me why you were crying.” He motioned to her face. Swollen eyes must have given her away. The others never gave Harper enough credit. He perceived and processed far more than he let on, and quickly too, his immaturity as much a mask as hers had been; one reason she’d had to distance herself from him before. A suspicious mind, dogged determination, and inquisitiveness in droves allowed him to pick up on the subtleties of her evasions. Once onto something, he pushed and pried, even if it put his life in danger. Because of this, he manipulated her better than anyone else. Like now, as he turned her own playbook against her.

A test. She could not sidestep him without appearing evasive. Was the openness of their conversation two nights ago a fluke? An exchange. Something dear for something dear. This is how they laid the bricks to build a new foundation of trust.

“That is fair,” she replied, “and I would tell you, if I knew myself. I woke up crying and I do not remember the dream. I hadn’t even meant to fall asleep, I was reading.” She leaned down, fighting a wave of dizziness, and picked up the flexi. She tapped in on her knee, looking down at it without seeing. Harper scooted forward and reached across the gap, snatching the flexi from her hand, curiosity negating social niceties like asking. She didn’t swat his hand or discourage him as she might have in the past.

“It’s no wonder you fell asleep if your pleasure reading is medical charts,” he said as he scrutinized it. She was about to point out that he read engineering schematics for fun, and he had gifted her with an entire database of scientific data just two days before, when she saw it click with a raised eyebrow whose chart he was looking at. “You’re researching yourself?” He shoved it back at her as if it had become fire in his hands, color rising in his cheeks.

“Everything is different now. I can to heal hundreds of species, yet I know nothing about my own body. From reading today, I can say I appear to be a highly evolved genetic cousin to Humans. We are similar in almost every physical way, yet we differ at a biochemical level and in brain structure. These differences may simply be a mixture of evolving in different environments and a much longer evolutionary period for my species,” She explained. Her species. Was that word even applicable? A species of one. An almost copy of a lost species from a long dead universe.

Mental processing lines appeared above Harper’s nose. “Highly evolved genetic cousin? Like, maybe the Vedrans weren’t the only ones who seeded their blueprints in our universe. Like humans are some sort of Lambent Kith starter kit?” The amusement in his tone did not reflect in his body language.

She raised an eyebrow at his analogy. “That is an interesting way to put it. It’s possible. But, while being ‘human but not human’ is a starting point, it isn’t much help. I still cannot tell you what will make me sick, how much I need to eat, or even how long I need to sleep. I have fallen asleep twice already, once sitting up in my hammock, so I moved in here, and then a little while ago. And every time I sleep...” she trailed off.

“You wake up from horrible, terrible, no good, very bad, gut wrenching nightmares,” he finished. Her lips turned downward. She trained her eyes on him, sensing something she could not name yet. He kept his gaze off to the side. She nodded.

“Yes. They started last night. I think I was too sick before. I don’t even remember them, but when I wake it feels… it feels like…” How did she finish? How did she frame her emotions using such an imprecise medium as language? She didn’t have to.

“It feels like everyone and everything you know and love is gone and there is no way to get them back.” His voice contained within it a lifetime of hurt and his tired stance took on a new meaning. There was only one way Harper could have expressed those feelings, her feelings, with such clarity.

“How long?” she asked. He picked up a pillow and sat it on his lap, patting it.

“I’ve had nightmares my entire life. The Dragons and Magog made sure of it. But, I haven’t slept through an entire night since the Abyss destroyed Earth. Caffeine is the only thing keeping me going. Coffee is truly the nectar of the Gods.” A glimpse behind his facade, willingly given. She had guessed years ago. Assigned the bunk beneath his for six months, awake and meditating for most of the night while everyone snored around her, it was impossible not to hear his late night thrashing—the groans and cries of a tortured soul. No one ever mentioned it in the morning and she’d taken her cue from them. Everyone was entitled to secrets, and those with their own secrets to hide did not pry.

“Harper…”

“Don’t worry about it, Trance. I’ve learned how to handle them.” He sounded flippant though his eyes told a different story. She looked away, overwhelmed, pulling her hands together on her lap, stilling them, focusing on keeping her kinetic energy under control so she would have something tangible to focus on. He accused her of being an enigma without realizing that he was just as much a mystery to her. How were people so cruel to one another, and how did someone who had suffered as much as Harper had on Earth still smile and joke his way through life?

“How? How do you handle all of it, how do you remain strong?” She stood up and took a step towards the more spacious galley, holding onto the wall for balance, suddenly succumbing to claustrophobia. Two steps. Three. Legs shaking, head swimming. She reached table, scratched and stained from years of use, and leaned against it, arms in front of her, hands clasped. The table provided enough stability to calm her legs and head. She needed to spend time upright, anyway. A rustle. Some footsteps. Harper took position across from her.

“You are the strongest person I know, Trance,” he said. She didn’t look up at him, keeping her eyes on her hands, head bent down, hair hanging around her face, obscuring the surrounding room.

“No, I am not strong,” she whispered, “not at all.” Tears threatened to fall again. She was tired of tears. What happened to the hardened warrior who rarely cried? Who was this girl who could not stop?

“Trance…”

“You don’t understand.” She looked up through her hair, keeping her chin bent down. He stared at her, eyes narrowed so that fine lines stretched out from their corners.

“Help me understand.”

She opened her mouth to speak and closed it again. _Stop it. Pull your chin up and smile. Say nothing._ Frozen in place, the default urge to protect the inner workings of her mind—to hide behind deflections, riddles, and masks—waged war with a longing to share her pain and lessen its burden. _He doesn’t need your burdens, he has too many of his own. They all do._

“Trance, take it from someone who knows, it doesn’t help to keep everything all wound up tight inside. Eventually it snaps free and at the worse possible time. If you don’t want to talk to me, there has to be someone. Dylan? Rommie?” he asked. The sincerity in his expression tugged at her defenses. She remembered. She remembered him after the Magog infested him with their eggs, gun out, firing on already dead and decaying monsters, as if those bullets might change his fate and remove his pain.

“No, Harper, I want to talk to you. I am just used to not talking,” she replied once the silence grew uncomfortable. “In the Nebula, feelings are weapons.”

A moment passed, then another, neither one of them willing to break the silence. Pressure built up in her chest. She had to tell. She took a deep breath to calm her racing heart.

“Can you keep a secret?” she asked.

Harper let out a sigh. Relief? “Andromeda, engage privacy mode.”

“Privacy mode activated,” Andromeda said. Now she had no choice. She lifted her chin so Harper could see her face, and so she could look into his eyes.

“I don’t know what it is like for humans, but when I was in the coma, I was awake. Sort of. It was a dark place. I felt nothing and heard nothing and that was a relief,” she explained, her gaze unwavering. “My twin found me in the darkness. I do not know how he communicated with me, or even if I imagined him, my subconscious giving me a voice I might listen to. He told me that if I did not face what had happened, I would die.”

A knot formed in her throat and she swallowed it down. Tears welled up, and she blinked them away. Harper kept his eyes on her, deep worry lines creasing his forehead. He reached across the table with both hands and wrapped hers in his. She glanced down at the place where their skin met, tan on ivory and gold, his skin cool against hers. She looked up again.

“Harper, I wanted to. I wanted to die, to disappear and never face life like this and I told him as much. He convinced me to live, but every day since waking there has been at least one moment where I wish that I had… that I had just disappeared,” she said. There. Her heart lay exposed on the table like never before, her darkest thoughts out there for judgement, spoken to Harper of all people, a man known for struggling with empathy. “See, I am not strong. I want to run because this is hard, and I am empty inside without my sun, and I am afraid.”

A pause. The trembling started in her legs and spread throughout her body, energy fighting to be free from tensed muscles. What would he think of her now that she admitted she wanted to die? Over the last month, her friends had dedicated countless hours to treating her, caring for her, and entertaining her, Harper more than any of them. How ungrateful she sounded to wish it all away, even for a moment.

No judgement passed over his expression; only worry, only love, only… understanding? He squeezed her hands, grip tight, as if she were falling and in need of rescue. And perhaps she was, unable to keep her balance on the edge of a precipice, light behind her and darkness below her.

“If you have been feeling like this every day for the last week, you’re even stronger than I thought,” he said. “It is really hard to keep living when you want to die. Really really hard.”

Yes, understanding. A memory surfaced. Four years ago, three weeks after the first Magog attack, a nervous Rommie had approached her in Hydroponics. She asked her as both Harper’s acting physician and his best friend to keep an eye on him. Don’t make him suspicious, don’t approach him, or make it obvious, just watch him closely. She would not elaborate, only saying he was not well.

“Right now, I feel I am only living for you. For you, Dylan, Beka… I am only fighting because I don’t want to leave all of you who love me so much.” She explained, her voice shaking. His lips pulled into a thin, sad, smile.

“One day, you’ll start to live for yourself again, too. I promise.” His grip on her hands loosened, but he didn’t take them away. She took a moment to collect herself. The knot in her throat loosened. The unshed tears dried. Her muscles released most of their tension. A wave of dizziness washed over her, lifting her head up towards the bulkheads, whether from the physical stress of standing for so long or the intensity of her emotions.

“I think that is about as much talking about myself as I can handle,” she said, managing a small smile. “I need to sit.”

Harper was by her side a second later, arm slipping around her waist, his body heat warming her, the preferred temperature of humans being at the lower edge of her comfort level. The last time they shared such close contact must have been well over a year ago, months before Seefra. She didn’t tense at the sudden intimate touch as she might have before, or pull away. Instead she wrapped her arm around his back and pressed into his side, using his strength to keep herself steady without the table’s solidity. He smelled of stale coffee, sweat and grease; not entirely unpleasant.

“You okay? I mean right now, physically? Nothing is wrong? Obviously you’re not okay,” he asked rambling the way he did in emotional situations.

“I’ll be fine, I’ve just been standing too long.” She tried to keep her voice from wavering so as not to worry him more. He tightened his hold, fingers pressing into her side just beneath her jutting ribs.

“Back to your bunk?”

“No, my room. I want to be around my plants.” They moved through the hall, stepping in unison, one foot in front of the other, silent for the first few steps. She sensed that Harper had more to say. “What is it?”

“Listen, I will change the subject, but I need you to promise me something first. If your feelings get overwhelming don’t sit alone with them. Find someone. Find me. Wake me up even. I won’t even talk if you don’t want to talk. Just… You don’t even understand how fast feelings like that can get scary and out of control.” He led her to her purple hammock and helped her sit down, then he stood in front of her, looking down, waiting for her to respond. She pulled back away from the intensity of his gaze and the power of his fear. Fear for her. “Promise me.”

“I promise,” she said, voice soft, meeting his eyes. And then, “Thank you.”

“For what?” He fidgeted in place, now the one uncomfortable.

“For being here today, and especially for being there a month ago,” she replied, finally thanking him for saving her life. He plopped down on the red hammock, peering at her through the sheer fabric.

“I… you’re welcome. You’re my friend, Trance. I can be a crappy friend sometimes, but if you need me, I’m here.”

A true smile tugged her lips upward. “Harper, you are my best friend. We are all lost sometimes. We all make choices we are not proud of. It does not make you a bad friend. Now will you talk about what you have been working on these last two days, what has kept you away and why you look so drained right now?”

“Is that your polite way of telling me I look like crap?” He returned her smile with half one of his own and that somewhat bemused expression that often decorated his features in her presence.

“Not quite. And, you are evading.”

“It’s just something Rhade found. That’s all.” His tone was a poor attempt at indifference. He swung himself in the hammock. Back and forth. Back and forth.

“If it were nothing, you would not have spent so long on it.” To the casual acquaintance, Harper might seem like an open and easy-going person. Those close to him realized that extracting guarded information took patient prodding. He remained silent. Back and forth.

“Harper,” she pressed.

He jumped up from the hammock and paced the room his steps, heavy and loud, mingling with the hissing intake and outtake of her plants’ supplemental oxygen system, creating a dissonant music that somehow matched Harper’s mood. He reached into his back pocket and pulled out a flexi, handing it to her on his next pass. It was almost a relief to look away from his dizzying pacing.

A Yin-Yang symbol like the one on Harper’s arm appeared when she turned it on, only inside several characters had been written. She narrowed her eyes, scrutinizing them.

“It’s from Earth,” he said.

“I see that. These characters are Arabic, these are Roman, and these are Japanese… no, Chinese,” she murmured as she attempted to make sense of what she saw. “The Roman characters say… liberation?” She looked up when his pacing stopped. He stood in front of her, mouth agape, both eyebrows raised. She blinked a few times, twisting her shoulders, the heat rising in her cheeks. “What?”

“You can read English and recognize the other symbols?” he asked. Her fidgeting rocked the hammock, and she adjusted herself to keep her balance, precarious as it was these days.

She shrugged. “You learn a lot when you have lived as long as I have. Language is important for interaction.”

“How many languages do you speak?” His voice, full of disbelief, also carried the hint of a challenge. He would continue to test her boundaries, asking question after question until he found one she was unwilling to answer. At least he hadn’t asked her age.

She thought for a moment, making mental calculations, compressing dialects of the same languages into one, and came up with a number. “3,789, more or less.” And then, thinking she should soften the impact because Humans often became uncomfortable with statistics like that, she added, “Most of them are dead.” It didn’t work. Harper’s eyes grew impossibly wider.

“That’s amazing. And you are right, it says liberation in three different Old Earth languages. The symbol is the Yin Yang,” he explained.

She nodded. “The unity of opposites. Light cannot exist without darkness, peace without war, male without female. It’s a common theme in cultures across the Universe.”

“Right. For us, it was war and peace. We wanted peace for our families, but could not get it without fighting every god damn Uber on Earth. It was stupid, all we ever did was annoy them. We didn’t know the first thing about resistance.” His eyes turned to glass and the tendons in his neck stuck out from the tension in his jaw. The bitterness in his tone was biting. So much hatred. And though it saddened her, she did not fault him for it. What the Drago Kazov had done to the people of Earth was unforgivable, even to her. “Not that it matters. Earth is gone now.”

The aching in her heart from earlier returned, the combination of both their losses so palpable she almost saw it rising around them in tendrils of melancholy fog. She glanced down at the time stamp on the message in her hands so she didn’t have to see his pain, unsure of how to help. It had no starting stamp, but the time of its arrival on Earth was clear.

“How did Rhade find this?” she asked, looking up again. He returned to his pacing. Back and forth. Faster now.

“You know how when communications are open Andromeda sometimes picks up fragments of other transmissions?” he asked. Communications systems weren’t always perfect. They picked up a lot of noise, but not all of that noise was useless. They stored in a database to for future review in case communications were open during or preceding military or diplomatic action.

“Rhade found this in the noise after everything settled down,” she said, surprised. “Andromeda intercepted it when we were trying to get you to return.”

Back and forth, pace frantic now. “Bingo. Someone sent the transmission from several light years away. It arrived the very moment Earth was destroyed and somehow bounced back into space where Andromeda intercepted it. It survived, but it's pretty screwed up.” It was hard to pinpoint the dominant emotion in his voice. Anger? Frustration? Despair?

“So you’ve been working on this around the clock, trying to make sense of it?” she asked. His pacing stopped again.

“Resistance transmissions are hidden behind three encryption codes. Once I broke those, I found the text written in encoded English. I had to break that code and translate it—since I don’t speak English— which wasn’t easy because it is so corrupted that large bits of text are missing.” He rubbed his temples. She wanted to reach out and comfort him, but didn’t have the energy to move. “I spent hours decoding it and even longer trying to figure out where it came from, but it could have come from anywhere in the Tri-Galaxies and the text is no help.”

“You’re smart, Seamus. You can figure this out.”

He slammed a fist into his chest, his voice rising, “I am a freaking genius and it doesn’t mean anything. It’s hopeless. Did you read it?”

She sat up straighter, squaring her shoulders and trying not to let Harper’s tone get to her. Humans often lashed out at those closest to them when upset, and Harper often attacked like a caged animal when upset, but even after all these years she found it difficult not to take it to heart. She scanned the document twice to make sure she read it correctly.

" _Drop… succe... safe for no… don't know… children… next load… five… maybe less…"_

She stood up, flexi in hand, ignoring the shakiness of her legs and the sudden tilting of the room, taking two small steps until she was in front of him, almost nose to nose. She placed both hands on his arms, just beneath the shoulders. Tense muscles twitched beneath her fingers, stress keeping them from relaxing.

“This message is hope. If a group of Terrans made it off before Earth’s destruction, we have to find them. Even if the chance is small. We must do everything we can.” She did not let him avoid her gaze, pleading with him to see what she saw. He could not give up.

His eyes narrowed. This close, she saw his pupils quivering. She read suspicion in those eyes. “No one has called Humans Terrans in a long time, Trance. You said you knew Earth. Is that why you care so much? Most people don’t give a damn about a backwater slave planet.”

She took a shaky breath and let it out, her heart speeding up, unexpected nervousness building. What did she fear?

“I didn’t tell you my twin’s name the other night. It is Sol,” she said, “And his wife, his beloved, called herself Gaia, though sometimes she preferred Terra.”

He took a step back, recoiling, his face reminding her of the first time he’d seen her the day she’d traded places with herself—the moment he pulled a gun on her. A weight formed in her stomach, dragging her down towards the deck. Her lips parted and closed, not sure what to say.

An instant later his expression softened with a flash of guilt. Her hurt must have been visible on the surface.

“So, um, your brother is the Avatar of Earth’s sun and you call yourselves the Gemini twins?” he asked, stepping towards her again, a wry smile forming, teasing her in an attempt to break up the tension. Typical Harper. She laughed, more from relief than amusement.

“Yes. Sol thought it would be fun to take a name from Earth’s mythology. Earth’s cultures fascinate him. You two would probably have a lot to talk about. Though, I doubt he finds our name quite so amusing now.” The Gemini twins, one a God, the other mortal and doomed to die. Only, Pollux had been granted immortality so Castor would not lose him. Hers had been taken away.

She fought a sudden and desperate urge to reach out to her brother, to see if he could still hear her across vast distances as he had when they were younger and defying the Nebula and its insistence on conformity simply because they could. She missed him. Needed him.

_No! The Nebula will kill him if they find out._

Instead, she returned her attention to Harper, who now just looked tired, overwhelmed, and overwrought.

“Tell me what you are thinking?” she asked. Did she reveal too much to him too soon?

“Why does it feel like everything is connected? You, me, your brother, Earth, the Abyss? All of it. Andromeda and the Magog, the Restored Commonwealth, Tarn Vedra, The Nebula? I feel like a fly stuck in a giant spider web with no choice in what happens and no way out.”

 _Me too,_ she thought. Instead of speaking her mind, which would not be productive for either of them, she grabbed him by the hand and pulled him to a grate in the back of the room where a dark-leafed ivy with flowers the color and shape of a flame climbed. She dropped his hand and stretched hers out to the plant, caressing a smooth leaf.

“The Universe is a lot like this ivy. It all starts with a single event, a single life, or a single choice. A seed planted in the soil. It breaks through, clinging to the grate, branching out in search of light.” She traced a single stem with her finger, following it up the grate until she reached a place where another crossed over it. “Every decision, every life, every event causes more and more branch-offs until they come together. Lives and destinies become intertwined, sometimes very closely. In the end, everything is connected by a single seed.”

She looked to Harper to see if he was following. He stared at the place where her hand rested. She pulled away from the grate and slid into her hammock again, exhausted.

“So we have no choice, it’s all destiny?” Harper asked, taking a seat in the other hammock. She shook her head.

“It’s all about the choices we make and our intentions. Some help the ivy to flourish, other condemn it to die. All we can do is make the best choices possible and realize that they will branch out and affect far more than we can ever imagine.”

“Will finding my people help the vine, or will it kill it? Is it important?” he asked.

“That is not something we can know. It could change the Universe. It could just change you. Perhaps finding the Terrans won't help at all. It might be that it is the journey that makes a difference, not the result. It could hurt things in the end. But, isn’t it worth the risk?” She gave him a small smile. Harper returned it with a small true smile of his own.

“You sound like old Trance again.”

She shrugged and shook her head though she didn’t let her smile fall. “I don’t think I ever knew who Trance Gemini was, but I am learning every day.”

“So, what is this vine’s name?” he asked. She looked back at the grate and then to Harper once again.

“This one doesn’t have a name yet. What do you think we should call it?”

He sat in pensive silence for a few moments and then said, “Fate. I think we should call it Fate.”


	10. Frustration

Punch. A rush of pain shot up from Beka’s fist, through her wrist, and up into her arm. Blessed emotional release followed. Another punch, on the other side, followed by a kick. The punching bag, dressed up like a tough-guy in black leather and silver chains, recoiled in fear, its links crying out as they bashed against each other. Good. It had better be afraid. She laid into it.

 _God._ Punch.

 _Damn._ Kick.

 _Nietzscheans._ Punch.

Her lungs burned, breaths punctuated with frustrated growls. Her heartbeat played out in staccato, sweat soaking into the back of her shirt and dripping down from her forehead, salty drops threatening her eyes. She would be sore in a few hours, just in time to open diplomatic relations with the Drago Kasov. She heaved forward with force, slamming her first into the bag. A sharp pain jolted up to her shoulder, a guttural shout escaping into the air, reverberating off the bulkheads.

“Whoa, Boss, what did the punching bag ever do to you?” Harper asked through labored breaths. She stopped and turned to face him, shaking out her arm, grimacing as it let her know just what it thought of her antics. In the silence of the room she heard the rhythmic pounding of Harper’s feet on the treadmill, continuing on his Sisyphean journey, a wireless biosensor node flashing on his temple, the machine adjusting speed and incline as needed to keep his heart rate in the correct range to build strength and endurance.

“Do you want to talk about it?” Trance asked. Beka stooped down and grabbed a small pewter towel off the ground beside her feet and wiped her forehead, moving her eyes to the side so Trance was in view. She lay back down on a weight bench, arms stretched out like wings, bent at the elbows forming and L, a light dumbbell in each hand. Beka winced, noting that her shoulders pointed towards the ground, extending backwards instead of parallel. With such light weights, it wouldn’t matter, but she needed to learn now before she graduated up.

 _Too bad Tyr isn’t here to teach her_ , Beka thought and then regret washed over her. Tyr was a Pandora’s box of memories and emotions that needed to remain locked away. No one needed more Nietzscheans in their life. Especially not her—and definitely not _that_ one. If he were alive today, what would he think of her, knowing she was his matriarch? What would she mean to him?

_God damn Nietzscheans._

“Trance, watch your form,” she said, ignoring both Trance’s question and her wandering mind, taking a step toward her friend. Before she was even halfway across the room, Harper was already off the treadmill and spotting her. He placed his hands under her arms and pulled them up until her shoulders were straight, then guided her in the motion of the exercise. Seamus Harper, personal trainer. Would wonders never cease?

“Do it like Doyle showed you, or you’ll need a chiropractor when you’re done.”

“Okay,” Trance replied with a nod. More surprising, this seemed routine. He remained behind her as she did her reps, pulling the weights up above head until they were almost touching and guiding them back down again. Each time her arms strayed, Harper stepped in to correct them, receiving a small smile as reward. Beka watched the ease of their interactions with an eyebrow raised. It had escaped no one’s notice over the last week as Trance became more mobile that wherever Harper was in his off-duty hours, so too was Trance, but this was the first time she’d observed them in action.

It seemed new, exceptional, worthy of comment, but only compared to their life on Seefra and the year leading up to the battle with the Abyss. War, trauma, literal separation, these things changed people, drove wedges between them, created emotional distances difficult to traverse. Even she and Dylan were still learning to trust each other again.

What she saw now was something old and familiar returning. Something comforting to experience, like a favorite childhood novel, or a beloved song playing in the background. It was a throwback to the days when Trance and Harper looked for excuses to work on projects together, when they bet non-existent fortunes in late night card games on the Obs Deck, when Harper would tell Trance he missed her after away missions.

Beka’s father once said the truest tests of friendship weren’t the good times, but the bad, when the Universe hit you hard and everything seemed shattered, torn, and irreparable. These moments tested the glue that held you together. True friends would come together over and over, despite time, despite distance. He’d had few of those when the end came. If he were right, though, the score was now Universe 0, Harper and Trance 2.

The weights clanked as Trance put them down. Harper jumped over to their gym bags and tossed her a towel which she caught as she sat up, dabbing her soaked hairline and the back of her neck. The three of them had been working out together for an hour, Trance going through a list of exercises assigned by Andromeda, not thrilled, but uncomplaining. A model patient doing her duty while Harper and Beka grudgingly did what they must in order to stay in shape—complaining plenty, setting a terrible example for their friend.

“Do you want to talk about it?” Trance asked again. Beka sauntered over to the bench and took a seat, picking up her water bottle along the way. She gulped down half of it before answering.

“What’s there to talk about? The Dragons agreed to arrange a meeting and the day before our scheduled tête-à-tête the ship I am supposed to rendezvous with takes part in a slave raid on a human settlement. Exactly how am I supposed to take that?”

She’d had enough problems before learning she was the mother of all Nietzscheans. Staying alive ranked number one on that list. Keeping Dylan and her crew alive number two. Now, she was, in part, responsible for so much suffering in the Universe. All because she fell for the wrong man. Again. He had violated her, stolen her DNA, and used it to create the race destined to destroy civilization.

Harper was running again, faster this time, a break-neck pace, feet pounding out an angry tattoo on the belt. The Dragons took his childhood, took his parents, and took his home world. Hell, according to Harper—she had yet to ask Trance about it—they’d even taken Trance’s sister-in-law when they destroyed Earth.

Her DNA did this. _Hers_.

Now, as she tried to make amends in whatever way possible, the Dragons were testing her boundaries.

Children.

Toddlers, really.

Dangerous, murdering, out-of-control toddlers, with genetically perfect adult bodies. And she was their mother, the one who needed to bring them in tow. She didn’t even like children.

But she had to do this. The Universe needed her to. Her friends needed her to. If she brought them together, made sure future generations were safe, kept human children free from chains, and stopped more worlds from turning into Earth, maybe she could find peace in her eventual retirement. Maybe it was the salve to cool the burning guilt inside.

“I think they want to see what you will do,” Trance said. “But, I don’t like it. It feels… wrong.” She stood up and stretched out. Up close, it was clear she was already putting on weight, the hollows of her cheeks rounding out. As she lunged forward the barest outline of muscle showed on her too thin calf. At least something was going right.

“Of course it feels wrong, Trance, they’re taking slaves,” she spat. The words left a bitterness in her mouth, the taste of rotten kiva fruit lingering on her tongue. She wrinkled her nose and took another gulp of water as if it would help.

Trance stood straight and shook her head. “I don’t know. It seems like more than that. This is deliberate. It is simple to confirm the DNA scans you sent them with a sample from you, proving you are the Matriarch, yet they are grandstanding, trying to anger you, or goad you into action. They must know it won’t take long before you have the fleets of other prides backing you, including many of their allies. So why do this?”

“I’ll tell you why Trance,” Harper snapped, voice hoarse from exertion, “the Dragons have no honor, nothing more to it. Those bastards _like_ to torture humans. You think they will let their _human_ matriarch get in the way?”

Beka winced at the venom in his voice. A worried ‘v’ formed above Trance’s nose and Beka’s lips pulled downward. Both of them turned to look at Harper. He slammed his fist into the control panel with a loud thwack and the belt cut off abruptly. He stumbled and caught himself on the hand rails. Anger dripped off of him like the sweat on his brow. His heartbeat tracked in sharp, angry peaks on the monitor beside the treadmill.

“It’s more than that, I just can’t figure it out.” Trance said, her voice so soft Beka had to strain to hear it. The other woman’s large eyes remained fixed on Harper, standing before them, jaw tight, shoulders rising and falling as he gasped for air, cheeks flaming red, and t-shirt soaked through from the pace he’d been keeping. Beka caught on. Trance didn’t want to talk about the Dragons in front of Harper anymore. Anger made him reckless. Anger clouded his judgement and silenced his better angels, forcing him to go against his heart, never mind the cost to his soul. Neither one of them wanted to push him into that dark place on accident. They’d seen the toll it had taken on him enough over the years.

This right here was the reason she was heading over to the Dragon’s god forsaken slave ship instead of bringing a delegation to Andromeda where she’d be a hell of a lot more comfortable. The wounds from Earth were too fresh. For all of them, if she were being honest, but Harper most of all. If she had a choice, she would stay far away from the Dragons until these wounds were at least scabbed over, no longer bleeding and weeping. But to get the Nietzscheans to the table, the Dragons, with their massive fleet and even larger chip on their shoulder, had to be dealt with swiftly.  For that, she needed to see where they all stood.

It was looking a lot like a battlefield.

 _I am your Matriarch. You must do what I say, and I order to you stop taking slaves,_ she thought, trying it on for size. _Ha, good one Valentine._

The three of them stood in place, pieces on a game board, unsure of their next move. A flammable energy surrounded them, ready to explode with a single spark. Right, time to change the subject.

“Oookay, that’s enough of that. Any big plans for either of you?” Not the smoothest or the least obvious of segues, but it would have to do. At least it didn’t involve Nietzscheans.

Trance made the first move, walking over to her gym bag and pulling out an insulated cup. “More exercise, a long nap or two, nothing but excitement on the schedule for me.” She didn’t sound excited. Harper wasn’t the only one with frustration churning beneath the surface. They would need to address it, and soon, but not right now.

Trance unscrewed the lid and took a sip, her nose wrinkling and lips curling in disgust. Harper, picking up on Beka’s not-so-subtle cue squeezed his eyes together in a tight line, took a deep breath, and forced himself to relax as he exhaled. His shoulders remained tight, but he put on a surface-level playful smile and turned to Trance.

“How come when you drink three milkshakes a day it’s healthy, but when I try to it is a ‘poor life choice’ and you and Rommie talk about scheduling physicals?” He asked her. A sad attempt at humor, but  Beka would take it over raw anger and pain—emotions she felt responsible for—any day.

“Because when you do it, Harper, it _is_ a poor life choice.” Beka retorted with an eye roll, earning a smile from Trance. Trance took another reluctant sip.

“You don’t want to drink this shake anyway, Seamus. It’s a concentrated blend of protein, fat, and nutrients with a tiny amount of sugar attempting to redeem the flavor. Try it.” Trance handed the cup to Harper. He took a large drink, all cockiness and swagger, then grimaced, a child discovering that coffee smelled far better than it tasted for the first time. He gagged as he swallowed and Trance laughed out loud. Beka too, relishing the sensation of letting go for a brief moment.

“You drink those three times a day? What did you do to piss off Rommie?” He asked, handing the offending cup back. “Have you considered plugging your nose and gulping them down?”

“And get a… what do you call it? Ice cream headache? No thanks. They are even worse warm. Rommie wants me to keep drinking them until I gain eight kilos.”

“It can’t be that hard to gain weight. I do it accidentally all the time. If I had to gain eight kilos, I would be living it up with cakes, cookies, and pasta.”

“Somehow, I think Trance would like to put on some muscle with that fat and avoid malnutrition,” Beka teased.

“And I cannot eat nearly the calories I need. I am trying.”

“No kidding,” Harper said, making a jab at Trance’s rather large appetite.

She had missed this. The friendship. The banter. All three of them working together as a team. She’d even missed Harper and Trance’s bickering, which would be returning shortly if they were becoming close again. Ignore everything that had happened in the last two years and they could almost transplant this moment back into the ‘good old days’. But, nothing was the same and a nagging concern pulled at the back of her mind, prompting her to interrupt.

“Hey, should you two be sharing germs right now?” she asked. Harper with his damaged immune system and Trance with one less than two months old, probably shouldn’t even be breathing the same air. Trance pursed her lips and tapped her fingers on the side of the cup. She didn’t look at Beka, keeping her eyes down. Harper also avoided her gaze. She hadn’t missed this. They were hiding something.

“Well, I have been developing immune boosting nanobots for years to help Harper, but I could never get them to work right. I have had a lot of time to think lately and realized what was missing a few days ago. We made the modifications and can use them now. They still aren’t ready, not really. I wanted something longer lasting. These will die out in a week in Harper’s system, and only 48 hours in mine, so we have to inject them on a schedule, but they should stop Harper from catching most of the illnesses the rest of you avoid and prevent me from becoming as ill next time I catch something.”

That sounded reasonable, and wonderful. Every other shore leave resulted in Harper coming down with a cold, and the last time Andromeda had a crew of almost five hundred people, it seemed like Harper was sick every two weeks. Plus, anything that prevented Trance from spending time on Med Deck as a patient was reason to celebrate. Except, Trance was only two weeks out of Med Deck and under orders to take it easy. And they both understood that.

“Trance, that’s great news, but you should be resting,” Beka said. Trance’s stiffened and her eyebrows slanted down towards her nose, lips pressed into an annoyed frown.

“So everyone keeps telling me,” she snapped. She turned around picked up her bag and set it on the weight bench next to Beka. Gathering her water bottle and towel, she stuffed them into the bag with more force than necessary, pulling the zipper shut in a quick, sharp motion. Then, she stopped, standing as still and straight as a pillar, neck curved, chin down, lids half shut. She breathed in slowly and let it out again, her expression softening. She looked up, offering an apologetic smile.

“I’m sorry, Beka. I didn’t sleep well last night and I am hungry right now. It is making me a little cranky,” she said after a long pause. Beka wanted to press, to dig into what was bothering her, to offer her help. But, out of sight of Trance, Harper gave a tiny shake of his head.

Guess who was getting grilled as soon as Trance was out of earshot?

Beka reached out to her friend and put a hand on her arm, just above the wrist. “It’s all right, Trance. You are entitled bad moods like the rest of us. We’ll chat later, okay?”

“Thanks, but a bad mood is still no reason to take things out on you. I am grateful you came to spend time with us this morning.” Trance picked up her bag and slung it over her shoulder.

“Me too. Sorry I have to kick you off the Maru today.”

“It’s not a problem. My quarters on Andromeda are nice too,” she replied. Harper gathered his things together.

“Want me to walk you to your room?” he asked. She gave him a warm smile and shook her head.

“Thanks for offering, but I have to stop at Med Deck for a check-up. I’ll have to check my busy schedule, but I think I can squeeze you in for lunch,” she joked, winking.

“Yeah, lunch. See you in the Officer’s Mess,” he replied.

Was that disappointment on Harper’s face? As far as she could tell, they spent upwards of five hours a day together. Surely he wouldn’t miss a five minute walk and a lift ride? Beka turned her attention to Harper in case he tried to sneak out.

“I’d like to have a word with you before you leave, Harper.” she said. He swallowed and gave her a nod, squirming under her gaze, probably checking off a mental list of everything he was trying to hide and wondering which secret scheme she had unearthed, or wondering if she would quiz him on his role in Trance’s nanobots. This time, he wasn’t the subject, but let him squirm. He’d likely earned it.

Trance turned to leave, took two steps forward, then turned around, lips parted, worry etched into the skin around her eyes. “Beka, please be careful this afternoon. I don’t believe you will like what you find over there,” she said in trademark, enigmatic, Trance fashion. Beka tilted her head and narrowed her eyes. Then she shook it off. Trance was speaking from experience, nothing more, and the last thing Beka wanted to do was remind Trance of the powers she’d lost.

“I plan on it,” she replied. Trance nodded, lips pursed and turned on heel to leave before Beka could say anything else. Six years and what seemed like a lifetime since meeting her and Trance’s sudden pronouncements still surprised her. No matter. There was a different Trance mystery to unravel just now.

 ********************

What the hell was he in trouble for this time? For once, he had done _nothing_ to draw Beka’s ire. Not since they left Seefra. Between battles, complete ship overhauls, trying to find his people, and all the time he had been spending with Trance, there was no time for trouble.

“Hey boss, listen, I swear I’ve been a space scout since we left Seefra,” he said as Beka turned to face him, words tumbling out of his mouth at the speed of light. He stopped speaking, taking in her her raised eyebrow and amused half smile. Not in trouble? That was a relief.

“I’m glad to know for once in your life you aren’t trying to make life harder on everyone else, but that isn’t what I want to talk to you about.” She patted the bench next to her. He took a seat, hands on his legs, eyes on Beka, ready to run if needed. He didn’t always know where they stood these days.

“Well then, what do you wanna talk about?” he asked. Beka sighed, her eyes moving to the door Trance had left through a moment before. She motioned towards it.

“I want to know what that was all about. Trance wasn’t just hungry.” Her tone both held the command of a captain who expected an answer and the concern of a friend. Great. No brushing this one off and he didn’t feel comfortable giving Beka a straight answer. How did he keep getting into situations that required empathy and good judgment? Those were not qualities he excelled at. Ask anyone.

“Well, she could have been hangry. We had breakfast almost two hours ago. That is almost a lifetime with as much as Trance eats these days,” he joked. Beka’s eyebrows spoke for her, their angle saying ‘I am not in the mood for your joking.’ Or maybe they were saying ‘It isn’t polite to talk about a lady’s eating habits.’ See, he could read body language.

“Harper, that was outright grumpiness. It takes a lot to get Trance to that point and you know exactly what is bothering her. Don’t deny it.”

How did he say this diplomatically without placing blame?

“It couldn’t possibly be because everyone on this ship is busy telling her what she _can’t_ do when she is trying to show them what she _can_ do? She’s bored and Dylan won’t give her a straight answer on when she can get back to work.”

Yeah. That was diplomatic. _Way to go, Seamus. You want her on your side._

“Trance is still sleeping twelve to fourteen hours a day, can barely stand over fifteen minutes, and can’t even climb the ladders yet. She’s come a long way faster than we dared hope, and thank God for that, but she still has a lot of recovering to do.”

Harper stood up, shifting on the balls of his feet, looking at Beka. Her worry showed in the creases around her eyes and lips. She studied him and he fought the urge to pace. He needed to make her see.

Beka didn’t see Trance slipping into his machine shop late at night after she’d woken from yet another nightmare, hair hanging loose, tangled from however many hours of sleep she’d managed, eyes heavy, dark circles like bruises beneath them. Some of her dreams escaped her memory, robbing her of her peace of mind like a thief in the night, and some were so real she woke frightened and confused, afraid one of them was in imminent danger.

In the first visit, Trance didn’t speak past telling him about her dream. She’d wandered around, studying his projects, sorting his tools into their proper homes, listening to him chat about everything that came to mind. After the first night he’d drawn her into his search for his people, asking her for her insight and advice. Beka hadn’t seen how her pain melted away once given a puzzle to take her mind off everything.

A few days ago he’d asked her about her projects. She thought she had a breakthrough on the immune nanos, so he helped her, privacy mode engaged to keep it from Andromeda who would tell Dylan. Rommie probably assumed they were having nightly heart to heart chats in Machine Shop 17.

“Yeah, but her brain is working just fine, and she is alone almost all day while we work. We’re her only friends. She doesn't read novels or watch movies—I’ve made several suggestions—and she can only work on her personal projects so much before Andromeda reminds her to take it easy. Because she is off duty, she isn’t even allowed to work in hydroponics,” he explained, his words flowing quicker and quicker. “So, she works out, eats, sleeps, meditates, and repeats all day every day. There isn’t a lot to occupy her mind and…” He stopped himself before he revealed more of what Trance had confided in him than he wanted to.

“And?” Beka pressed, catching on that he was leaving something major out. This time, he didn’t fight the urge to pace. If he framed this the right way he could get Beka to argue with Dylan on Trance’s behalf. Better her than him. Dylan might listen to Beka.

“Listen, I can’t tell you everything. Trance trusted me enough to tell me what was going through her mind and I won’t spill it. She’s just going through some stuff emotionally, and who wouldn’t be after everything that’s happened to her. She doesn’t like to be alone with her thoughts and I don’t blame her. Have you ever tried to stop your mind from running to the deep dark places when you are alone with nothing to do?” He stopped pacing and locked gazes with Beka, begging her to understand and not demand he give more detail.

“Yeah, it’s impossible,” Beka said. “Why hasn’t she said anything?”

“Because everyone is already making a fuss over her. Because she doesn’t like to call attention to herself. Because Trance has never told us anything about herself without being asked a direct question first—and even then she doesn’t answer half the time.”

He plopped down beside Beka again, hitting the bench harder than he had intended to. He needed to lay off the caffeine, his insides had electricity running through them. He fidgeted and bounced as if his torso were spring loaded.

“And we have all been deciding for her without asking,” Beka said. Bingo. Finally.

If he had a throne for every time he had gone stir crazy and skipped out on Trance when she was caring for him, he’d be able to buy a lot of chocolate. She reminded him of his limits in her own nagging sort of way, but then backed off and let him go. The least he could do was help her out in a similar situation.

“Dylan will not bend easily on this one. He is stubborn, especially when it comes to Trance," Beka said.

“Well, no offense to Dylan, but she isn’t the same Trance who spent the last year trying to get her memory back. She’s a lot more like a sweet, less sarcastic, version of our Old Old Trance. She’s even got the cute playful side used to have back. I mean, when she isn’t worried, depressed, or grumpy.”

Beka raised an eyebrow. “Cute playful side?” She crossed her arms over her chest, amused at his expense.

“Did I say that out loud?”

“Yeah. You did. Tell me, Harper, how many times did you have to clean out the waste reclamation system by hand because of that ‘cute playful side’?” _A lot_. That was the answer Beka was looking for. In the early days he and Trance had bonded over a mutual love of creating havoc and giving Beka gray hairs.

“Yeah, yeah, yeah. That’s not the point. The point is, she isn’t going to just do what Dylan says forever and her temper is already running short.”

“And when Trance runs out of patience, she takes matters into her own hands.” Beka said with a sigh, shaking her head. She stood up and packed her bag. He rose as well and slung his pack over his shoulder. “I’ll see what I can do after I get back from this trip.”

“Do you have to go over there, boss?” he asked as they stepped outside into the corridor both, he assumed, heading to the officer’s quarters to clean up before they were on duty. He’d be on Command all day supervising diagnostics for the life support systems and calibrating them deck by deck, routine work that Trance would happily do herself as the Environmental Systems officer if they would just let her do it. Beka, on the other hand, would be willingly walking into the Dragon’s lair and accepting their hospitality like a weird perversion of a fairytale.

Beka stopped at the foot of a ladder and put a hand on his shoulder, her face the picture of sympathy. “You know I do, Harper.” She climbed, and he followed behind.

“Trance is right, you know. Something stinks here. I have a bad feeling about the whole thing.” They went up two decks and exited into the deserted halls the Officers and VIP quarters deck. The only officers in residence were the senior staff, so six people had the entire deck to themselves when they weren’t entertaining. It used to be seven on the entire ship. Rumor had it the Commonwealth had plans to to fill Andromeda to a half compliment—2000 people. It was going to get crowded on board.

“I have to try. I could find out more about what happened to Earth if everything goes right, maybe even find out if they have any clue where your people are.” The magic words. His people. His obsession. But if the Dragons had information about the transmission, it was already too late for the people who’d escaped Earth.

“Let’s hope they have no freaking idea anyone got out.”

“If they do, it’s still good information to have.” They reached his door first and stopped outside. She put her hand on his arm again. “Are you okay Seamus? We’ve been so focused on Trance…”

“I’m fine, Beka,” he lied, cutting her off. He didn’t want to talk about his feelings right now. He didn’t want to talk about them ever. Beka wouldn’t believe he was fine. She knew him better than that. But, she would back off and leave him to nurse his pet existential dread on his own.

“If you need to talk, you know where to find me.”

“I know,” he said, putting his thumb on the keypad to unlock his door. It slid open with a hiss, revealing the chaos inside. “Be careful, okay?” he said and slid into his quarters, dropping his bag on the ground just inside the door, glimpsing Beka’s thoughtful expression before the door shut on her. It was time for a nice hot shower and another round of ‘Try to Avoid Thinking About Life’.

********************

_God._

_Damn._

_Nietzscheans._

She would never learn. She should have listened. Trance tried to warn her. Trance was always right.

It had started out well enough. The Dragons had been hospitable. They’d said the right words, offered her a surprising level of deference. They’d taken her blood and analyzed it, confirming she was the matriarch. All expected. Everything happening according to plan. At least until a small blonde-hair-blue-eyed human child tripped while carrying a tray and her host, Captain Augustus—because someone’s mother had high ambitions—tried to backhand him.

Now she stood in a well-appointed conference room surrounded by valuable works of art and five Nietzschean men with biceps twice the size of her entire arm, gauss gun drawn, a child who looked like she imagined eleven-year-old Harper must have cowering behind her. And Dylan had told her this morning he had faith in her diplomatic abilities. So much for bringing them to the table. So much for finding out if they knew anything about Harper’s people.

“Listen up. This is how this is going to go. I am going to leave, and he is coming with me. You will let me go back to the Andromeda and we will have a serious chat about slavery at a later date.”

The most surprising thing about this entire situation wasn’t that she had gone to bat for a child, a stranger. That seemed to be her modus operandi. Apparently Seefra hadn't cured her of Bleeding Heart Syndrome. It was that the men backed off, lowering their weapons.

She didn’t wait for an invitation. She grabbed the poor terrified child by his arm and dragged him out the door, finger on the trigger, gun pointed towards her hosts. And they let her walk away.

_Oh crap._

They made their way towards the Maru unobstructed with no alarms or Klaxons sounding. Trance and Harper were probably going to have to change their lunch plans because there was no way in hell then Dragons were actually going to let her walk away with one of their slaves and no repercussions.


	11. Initiative

“Battle Stations!” Dylan’s voice broke through the fog of sleep, the klaxon following on its heels. At first, Trance thought she must be dreaming again, so many nightmares featured the klaxon as a soundtrack, but it was too crisp, too loud. It lacked the muffled fuzzy quality she now associated with her dreams. Her breath caught, heart racing so fast that her head spun and her limbs felt insubstantial, as if made of water. Thoughts floated away, just out of grasp, but her brain was reaching for something, something important.

_Beka!_

Her eyes snapped open, quarters coming into focus, battle lights flashing, creating dancing shadows through the foliage of her plants. The klaxon cut off, stations now manned, just as the ship rocked. Missile, starboard, lower decks, low yield—not meant to do much damage—if she had to guess. A warning shot or a statement.

“Andromeda, what is going on?” she asked as she swung her legs over the side of the bed. The blanket fell to the floor, tangling her feet. The lights in her room brightened automatically. She kicked at the blanket, trying to release her legs. Everything seemed sluggish. Her thoughts, her movements, all pushing through liquid instead of air. Why was her body responding so slowly? Is this what usually happened when a person woke suddenly from a deep sleep?

Free of the wretched cloth now, she pushed off the bed, bare feet connecting with the rough carpeted deck, and forced herself to move to the nearest monitor on unsteady feet, the occasional missile hit making the task that much more difficult. A panel sparked behind her with a buzz and a flash.

“The Eureka Maru has exited slip stream pursued by six Dragon slipfighters. They have opened fire on both the Maru and myself. Their missiles are more of a nuisance than anything else. Even so, the best place for you right now is in your quarters,” Andromeda replied, appearing on the monitor, her professional expression marred by a hint of annoyance at being attacked.

Beka. She had sensed this would not go well, but the _what_ and _how_ had eluded her. She did not see. Before, she would have considered it a premonition, but now her gut feelings were only guesses based on experience, and guesses helped no one. She’d been blinded and now Beka was out there under attack and she saw no way to help her.

“On screen,” she ordered.

“Trance, Dylan and the others are on Command and have everything under control. I do not believe the Dragons mean to harm us. There is nothing to worry about.” Another missile. Upper decks this time, closer to crew quarters. This porcelain doll treatment grated. Even Andromeda was confining her to a safe, comfortable bubble where she was no help to anyone.

“Please Rommie, it will cause me more stress to not see what is happening. Beka is my friend.” And whether the Dragons meant to hurt them or not, danger lurked anytime missiles flew.

Andromeda acquiesced with a sharp nod and a sympathetic smile. For all the cold logic of the AI iteration of Andromeda’s personality, she still understood friendship. Rommie’s face was replaced by a view of the Maru surrounded by four fighters split with the sensor readout of where all players on the field were, offering context. Trance silently thanked Andromeda for thinking of it. Four fighters had taken formation around the Maru as shown in the view screen, while two more were behind Andromeda. Several dots, more missiles,  appeared on the diagram, some tracking towards Andromeda and the others towards the Maru. Trance watched the Maru’s point defense lasers detonate two explosives before they connected with the Maru’s hull, while another hit, flashing orange. Her room shook as the one missile that made it through Andromeda’s defenses made contact aft.

“Oh come on, they aren’t even trying!” Harper’s voice rang through her quarters, full of bravado.

“I have micro-fractures on deck 32. Deploying nanobots. It shouldn’t be an issue as long as we don’t take another direct hit in the same location,” Rommie reported.

“Mr. Harper, do you want them to try?” asked Dylan.

“Um, guys, Andromeda might not be taking much damage, but that hit compromised my AP tanks. This party is getting a little wilder than I prefer,” Beka said. Her worried face appeared in a box at the corner of Trance’s screen. Thank goodness. Safe for now.

“The Nietzschean fighters are firing again,” Doyle said. Sixteen more dots appeared on the diagram, tracking towards both ships.

“Rommie, take those out and let’s show our guests out there exactly how serious we take parties around here,” Dylan ordered, “Arm offensive missiles, all tubes. My guess is that they won’t want to stick around once we really get the party started.”

“Preparing party favors, aye,” Rommie said. Trance smiled. She wished she were on Command to join in the camaraderie. She missed working beside her friends, even under life and death circumstances.

The missile dots blinked out as both Andromeda and the Maru focused on them, but Trance watched as one slipped past both ships’ defense weapons and hit the Maru’s hull just outside the engine room. A lucky shot.

“Dammit!” Beka shouted, eyes on something on the screen beside the pilot’s chair.

“Critical engine failure,” announced the Maru in its deep gravelly voice. Beka removed her seatbelt and jumped from her seat, disappearing off screen.

“There is a leak in the Maru’s antiproton tanks and it is going critical.” Andromeda said.

“Beka, what is going on down there?” Dylan demanded.

“I’m trying to contain the leak right now.” Beka’s voice was almost drowned out by the hissing of steam, the Maru’s announcements of impending doom, and the cacophony of various alarms fighting for dominance.

Then, everything happened at once, a parade of events coming together to create a spectacle. A slipstream portal appeared and the Nietzschean fighters peeled off as predicted.

Harper cursed and shouted, “Beka, get out of the Engine Room!”

An explosion rocked the Maru from the inside.

“Beka!” Trance shouted, though no one heard her in her isolation. Her mind went blank, focusing on a checklist, drowning out all distractions. Triage mode. Boots. She needed her boots. Emergency medical kit. There, on the shelf next to the desk. On the desk, her hand comm and forcelance. Leave the lance, attach hand comm to waistband. She was only wearing shorts and a tank top. No time for modesty.

“Andromeda, deploy bucky cables and prep Med Deck. Harper, get down to the hangar and stabilize the Maru. Doyle, I need you to get down there and stabilize Beka enough to get her to Med Deck. Rommie, try to figure out where our party crashers got to and why they were chasing Beka in the first place.” Dylan shouted. A chorus of yeses and ayes answered him.

“I have her. Pulling her in,” Andromeda announced. Trance barely noticed. She had already reached her door. The lift was at the end of the hall, a walk, but not too far. The Maru’s hangar was only a few meters away from the lift. She was closer than anyone on Command and would be there first if Doyle kept pace with Harper.

She exited her room into the hallway. Halfway to the lift, Andromeda noticed her, hologram appearing about a meter in front of her.

“Trance, what are you doing?” she demanded, hands on her hips.

“I am helping Beka,” she replied, continuing her forward motion, right past the hologram who appeared further down, eyes all business, frown terse.

“I have alerted the medics and they are prepping Med Deck as we speak. You are under orders to remain off duty until you are deemed fit. Captain Hunt has not given me clearance to allow you to return.”

Too bad for Captain Hunt.

“We do not need a medic, I am perfectly capable of caring for Beka. I know her and her history. I know what medication to use and which ones not to. Besides, I have looked at their files. They are young and not a single one is trained as a surgeon.”

“We don’t know Beka will need a surgeon and Doyle or my avatar can stand in if the need arises. Return to your quarters.” Andromeda ordered.

Trance stopped right in front of the hologram, who stood in the middle of the hallway as if to block her. She looked the hologram up and down.

“No, I don’t think I will.” she snapped. “You will have to physically restrain me.” She stepped right through Andromeda. It was a combative move, but she didn’t care. She could do this.

“You still need to use the lift and I can stop it from leaving this deck.” Andromeda said eyebrow raised, appearing in front of the doors. Trance squared her shoulders.

“Then I will have to take my chances on the ladders.” It was a bluff. They both knew without more arm and leg strength, the ladders were dangerous for her, but Andromeda had no control over them the way she did the lifts. The hologram gave her a thoughtful look and then stepped aside.

“Dylan will receive a full report on your insubordination,” she said, though there was no menace in her voice. A mere statement of fact.

Good, report to him. She had quite a bit to say on the matter.

 

********************

 

“Beka?” she called as she stepped onto the Maru. She had been correct and was the first one there. Alarms sounded all over the ship and ozone burned her nostrils. She coughed as her lungs filled with acrid smoke. Fire. Where?

She made her way towards the engine room, but a whimper coming from the berth sidetracked her. A child. The Maru was small enough she wouldn’t lose too much time if she made a detour.

A boy of about eleven sat on her bunk, tears rolling down his face, terror in his eyes. He showed no signs of injury, only emotional distress.

“Hello, my name is Trance,” she said, keeping her voice low and calm, “I need to go help Beka now, but I will call for someone to take care of you. You are safe here. Okay?” She flashed him as much of a smile as she could muster through her anxiety. His chin dipped in a tiny nod and she turned away

“Trance, what the hell are you doing?” Dylan asked, voice booming through the comm. There were footsteps near the airlock, Harper and Doyle. “Andromeda just informed me you disobeyed a direct order and are now on the Maru?”

“Dylan, there is a child onboard, in the berth, he is frightened and needs help.” She ignored his words, giving him facts to chew on instead.

She was close to the engine room now. The smoke was thicker here. For the first time, she feared for herself and Beka, second guessing the rashness of her decision. Her body, unaccustomed to this much activity objected with an onslaught of dizziness and shakiness. The fire extinguisher was too heavy for her current strength level, and she definitely could not move Beka on her own. What if Beka were on the lower level, only accessible by ladder?

“Doyle is there to stabilize Beka. Go to your bunk on the Maru until this is over, we will talk when everything settles down. That is an order.” He was angry. He had a right to be. She still didn’t care. She was here now and would finish what she had started.

“We can talk all you want after I take care of Beka.” She could almost hear him cursing on Command, though he had, thankfully, not kept the comm on.

“Trance?” Harper asked from behind. “Weren't you taking a nap?”

She coughed again, the smoke getting thicker the closer they got to the engine room.  Harper coughed too. Her eyes remained forward. “It's a little hard to sleep through a battle.”

“You shouldn't be down here. Your body isn't ready for this amount of stress,” Doyle said.

They entered the engine room together, Trance in front, the other two behind. Harper slid past her, brandishing a fire extinguisher at the open flames spouting from a tank in the corner of the room. The intense heat of the flames dried out her skin, making it feel as if someone had stretched it tight across her cheekbones, like the skin of a drum. Beka lay close to porthole they entered through, unconscious, angry plasma burns on her side framed by singed cloth. She’d been lucky. The blast that hit her threw her far from the fire. Dried blood painted her cheek from a wound on her forehead.

Trance dropped to her knees next to her friend. She coughed again, harder this time. Her head ached, pain marching through her skull to the beat of her heart. She pushed it aside, gave it to her future self to deal with, and focused on what was in front of her.

“I can get Beka to Medical. You need to lie down,” Doyle said, perceptive enough to read the shibboleths of pain in her body language. She ignored Doyle. She was right, and Trance needed to come up with something quickly, something that didn’t involve leaving Beka in less experienced hands.

The woosh of fire retardant being released at high pressure told her that the fire was under control, or would be soon.

“Boss, looks like nothing else is going to explode. I have to put out some fires here, literally, and it’s gonna take some work to get this bucket of bolts up and running, but the Maru isn’t going to explode in the hangar bay anytime soon.” Harper announced over the comm as Trance opened her med kit and scanned Beka, watching the readouts appear on the tiny screen of her hand comm.

“Thanks for the update Harper. Trance, let Doyle handle this, return to your bunk.” Dylan repeated.

She thought she’d made herself clear earlier. Dylan needed to trust her.

“I already had this conversation with Rommie, but I will say it again so everyone can hear. I am helping Beka right now. She doesn’t need another medic. I am her physician and I am here right now. I have everything I need to care for her on the Maru. You will have to restrain me if you want me to stop now. So, the way I see it is you can waste time having someone try and force me to rest, which won’t work out well for you, you can leave me alone, or you can help me, because the only way I will rest is by making sure Beka is okay,” she said, tone mirroring the command in Dylan’s voice.

“We _will_ discuss this later, Trance. Doyle, do what she asks,” Dylan said, each word measured and punctuated, each one an individual promise of an unpleasant conversation. Rarely was she the one to invoke that tone, and rarely had it gone well for her. It was a problem for the future and she would handle it then.

“If you do this, it is going to cause a lot of physical stress, I am worried you will hurt yourself,” Doyle said.

“I have a plan to prevent that,” she replied, bluffing again.

_Okay Trance, time to come up with a plan._

She could not rely on visions to guide her, only ingenuity. If one could not do something because of a physical weakness, one made use of tools. Rommie often helped her on Med Deck, anticipating her needs and making sure her equipment was on hand. This time, she needed someone to lend her their strength.

“And what is your plan?” Doyle asked, head tilted and lips pressed together, skeptical.

“Delegation. I need a nurse, can you do that for me?” That was as good a plan as any.

Doyle bobbed her head, “I can do that. What do you need?”

Trance looked over her sensor readouts one more time just to make sure and looked over to Doyle. “She is safe to move. Can you carry her into the berthing chamber and lay her down on the bottom right bunk?” Beka would be more comfortable on the Maru, and after, Trance could rest on her own bunk, close at hand in case Beka needed anything. Nursing each other on the bottom right bunk was a Maru tradition dating back to the first medical emergency after Trance joined the crew. No reason to change things now.

“Yes.” Doyle replied, calculating eyes on Beka. Trance turned to Harper. He’d abandoned the fire extinguisher by his feet and was bent over a control panel triaging his patient in much the same way she was hers. If the Maru wasn’t about to explode, she needed him, just for a moment.

“Harper,” she called. He jumped. He was lost in his thoughts. In the zone as he would say. She was in the zone too. Triage was second nature to her. For the first time in two weeks she felt in control.

“Yes my golden goddess,” he replied, using his favorite nickname for her. It only stung a little.

Harper gave her no argument, no pronouncements that she should not be doing this. He answered her command the way he would answer any from her in an emergency. God did she love him in that moment for accepting her without question, the first of her friends not to be an obstacle wasting even more of her precious energy.

“Nothing is going to blow up?” She followed Doyle’s progress out of the room with her gaze, packing up her medical equipment before standing up to follow.

“Not for now, at least.” He flashed a smile.

“Good. I need you to collect the burn kit from in here and go to Beka’s room and get the medical cart, then you can get back to work.”  

“Yes Ma’am,” Harper replied and saluted, two fingers to his brow. She laughed. Despite everything, she laughed as he disappeared through the porthole to do as she asked.

Rommie had taken up residence in the galley by the time she passed through again, the child sitting stiff-backed beside her, wide blue eyes following the action the way a rodent scans a field for predators, conditioned to flee at the first sign of danger, but with nowhere to go. A human child, not Nietzschean. A slave. Rommie spoke to him in a low soothing voice, words impossible to make out. Her eyes followed Trance as she passed through, but she said nothing. Even before becoming organic she would not have placed bets on who Rommie was supporting in Dylan and her’s impromptu game of tug-of-war.

Doyle stepped out of her way when she approached. Doyle had lain Beka on the bunk and removed her burned jacket and blouse, leaving her in just her bra. The burn stretched from her hip to the base of her ribcage, the skin blistered and peeling on her side, angry red inflammation reaching all the way to her navel. Harper wheeled the cart into the room, sparing a glance at Beka, worried. Trance made note to thank Andromeda for her due diligence in making sure the Maru was well stocked with medical equipment and supplies specific to the injuries Beka now had.

“Here Trance,” Doyle said and slid a crate the perfect height to sit on behind her. She took a seat, muscles instantly relieved.

“Thanks Doyle.”

“You got this?” Harper asked.

She nodded, “Yeah, I got this. She’ll be up and yelling at you by tomorrow, easy.”

Trance didn’t even look at Harper. She pulled out a sanitizing wand and ran it over her hands and bare arms, then tossed it to Doyle who did the same.

“I am going back to the engine room. Holler if you need me,” he said and then headed off, footsteps fading down the hall. Doyle passed the wand back over and she waved it over the burn, killing any bacteria that may have already taken residence on the wound.

“Doyle, in the burn kit there is a spray bottle with a red nozzle. It’s made for plasma burns. I need you to apply that gel directly on the third degree burns. The longer we wait, the more chance it will become infected or scar,” she ordered as she attached a biosensor node to Beka’s temple and tapped commands into the control panel on the portable med cart. Beka’s vitals appeared on the cart’s screen.

Beka groaned, coming to, her forehead wrinkled in pain. Trance searched through the medications. There. She picked up a vial of the expensive painkiller she specifically stocked for Beka because it was both effective and could not lead to chemical dependence. She pushed it into an injector, programmed the correct dose, and pressed the device to Beka’s neck then discarded the vial, dropping it to the deck, replacing it with a vial of sedative. Even with painkillers, Doyle’s work would be excruciating. It would be better for Beka to remain unconscious.

She scanned Beka again, looking for specifics on the damaged tissue. With some clever programming, she could prevent scars all together. She found what she needed and programmed the bots. She injected them and moved her attention on Beka’s head wound, by far the easiest and most routine of the two injuries.

The room spun as she bent over too fast. A betrayal of strength and energy. Adrenaline had kept her going so far, but all good things came to an end. Just a little longer. This had become a trial, a test. She needed to prove to herself and the others she had it in her. She was still useful.

“Okay, Trance. What next?” Doyle asked. Trance breathed in and then out again once, and then twice. She imagined herself drawing from a well of energy deep within herself the way she had drawn energy from her sun in the past.

“Inside the burn kit are dressings. They are laced with nanotechnology to regenerate her skin and a salve to protect the area from infection. Affix them to all burned areas, no matter how mild. In twelve hours we will can remove them and use a standard skin cell regenerator to heal the rest,” she explained, her voice remained strong, keeping her secrets. Doyle got to work.

Steady once more, Trance cleaned Beka’s head wound with a disinfectant doused cloth and used the aforementioned cell regenerator to close it, leaving Beka’s skin smooth again, though bruised. The nanos would take care of that in a matter of hours. She ran the scanner over Beka’s head. No swelling, but some localized damage. A minor concussion.

“Finished,” Doyle reported. Trance programmed another nano injector to repair the damage and protect Beka’s brain from potential swelling. She injected them and then looked first to confirm that Doyle had missed nothing, and then to Doyle, smiling.

“Finished here as well,” she said.

Dylan once explained to her that in a crisis, he could keep going despite injury and fatigue until the moment he relaxed. Then, the lurking exhaustion and pain would overtake him, forcing him to address it. As someone with an endless well of energy to draw from, she had only understood what he meant on an intellectual level. Now, she knew on a physical level as well.

First her headache returned to the forefront, tacking on interest for ignoring it so long. The contents of her stomach boiled and rolled and her heart danced to an uneven tempo in her chest rather than beating steadily the way it was supposed to. Her muscles twitched and ached, angered by her insistence on using them so intensely after she’d exercised them for an hour this morning.

She closed her eyes and tried to regulate her breathing. How long had her nap been? She hadn’t thought to look at the chronometer. When was her last meal or drink of water? While time seemed to fly as she worked, an hour or more must have passed since she arrived on the Maru.

Perhaps heroics should have waited until the second day of work. But, despite feeling more like a rag wrung out and left on the floor than a person, a sense of pride filled her. A spark of happiness and a glimmer of confidence. She had saved the life of a friend. She had done her job, and she knew that no one could have done it as well as her.

One of Doyle’s hands pressed into the small of her back, offering her solid strength to lean into, while the fingers of her free hand curled gently around Trance’s wrist, taking her vitals the android way.

“Your heart rate and blood pressure are both far too high and your blood sugar is too low, has it been over three hours since you last ate?” Doyle asked. Trance could only shrug. Her naps often lasted up to three hours, making up for the sleep the missed out on at night. “Stay right here, I will get you water and food from the galley. I’m sure Harper has something carb heavy in there.”

Trance didn’t think she could stand if she wanted to. Someone had put a weighted blanket around her shoulders and filled her boots with sand. She wanted to tell Doyle not to bother with food out of fear of becoming sick, especially not any of Harper’s prepackaged monstrosities, but figured she had lost her strong bargaining position from earlier when she could actually stand up to stand her ground. Doyle knew what she was doing. Better to conserve strength. At some point there would be an angry Dylan Hunt to manage.

Doyle returned with a mug of water and a shiny bag of starchy vegetable chips and handed them both to Trance. She took them, taking a drink and placing the chips unopened on her lap. As far as Harper food went, these weren’t bad. They tasted okay and were made from vegetables, an improvement over much of what he ate when Andromeda, or someone else, didn’t plan meals for him. Another time she might have eaten them without complaint, and even enjoyed them, but right now her stomach did an unpleasant flip at the thought of eating so much grease.

“Thanks Doyle,” she said, and then pulled a smile through her exhaustion and placed a hand on Doyle’s arm. “You’re a great nurse. You have the heart for medicine.” She spoke the truth, wanting to let Doyle know how impressed she had been with her since she woke, especially today, but her words didn’t have the impact she expected.

A sad little laugh escaped Doyle’s lips. “Trance, I don’t have a heart.”

Trance looked down at the food on her lap and the cup in her hand and then back up to her friend, trying to formulate her words the right way, to build them into a structure capable of supporting Doyle as she continued to discover who she was and where she belonged in this strange universe.

“Until several weeks ago, I did not have a heart either. Not like a human’s. A physical heart is simply blood and muscle protein. It keeps an organic alive, but it does not give them the spark of life or love. That heart is something much harder to pinpoint, and is unrelated to biology.”

Doyle said nothing, standing like a statue, a frown in her eyes and on her lips. It hit Trance right then how lost they all were, all of her friends, how unsure of themselves. Every one of them searching for their identity, their home, the place they belonged. And there was Doyle who helped her each day, acting as her de facto physical therapist with smiles that seemed to come easy, yet a stream of sadness, of uncertainty, flowed beneath those smile, hidden away, sometimes visible in the depths of her eyes. She had no past, no heritage, and no true home now that Seefra had become Tarn Vedra again. Her roots had instead attached to people like Harper and Dylan, so unpredictable, when they needed to grow deep into stable soil.

“Doyle, I know things are bleak right now. You are trying to figure out what and who you are, where you belong, and I understand, believe me. I tell myself that it is always darkest before the dawn, but the sun always rises. We have been through so much, and I don’t think the universe makes much sense to any of us right now. It is hard to see that things will get better, but they will. I have to believe they will, and you must, too, or what is the point of all this?”

“Let’s get you into bed. I will clean up and monitor Beka. You need to eat and rest.” Doyle said, not acknowledging Trance’s words. “I am going to tell the others to leave you alone until tomorrow.”

In other words, she was going to tell Dylan not to confront her until she’d rested. She was grateful, but even so an anxious bubble formed around her heart, squeezing it, forcing it to beat harder as it pumped her blood, her bravado from earlier rushing off to hide somewhere, leaving her defenseless against her bully imagination who loved to lie to her and blow things, like Dylan’s potential reaction, out of proportion.

_Dylan loves you. He is angry, but he will be fair._

“Thank you, Doyle.” Trance said. Doyle helped her stand and take a couple of shaky steps to her bunk. She would stay awake at least until Beka was up and then take everyone’s advice and rest.

“Trance, I know you understand, probably better than most. I just wish I had your optimism.” Doyle said as she helped her sit down. Trance forced her eyes to meet Doyle’s and concentrated on sculpting her expression into one of warmth and confidence to comfort her friend. Another mask. She did not trust herself to speak.

_Sometimes I wish I did too._

Then, with great effort, she pushed those thoughts away. Today, they were not allowed. Today she would focus on the good she had done, focus on Beka, and deal with the consequences when tomorrow rolled around. She often told everyone else that their intentions shaped their outcomes. Well, her intentions had been good, and she chose to believe that the outcome would be good as well.


	12. Perspective

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A quick primer on the Paradine before we begin!
> 
> The Paradine were introduced at the end of Season Four and we find out that Dylan is one of them. We never learn much about them except that they can travel through space and time, even to the beginning of the Universe, to manipulate events and change the timeline, that they protect the Lambent Kith, and by the finale, that Dylan is the last one left. Dylan doesn't remember being Paradine at all, or how to access his powers.
> 
> Marlowe is the Paradine who informs Dylan that he is one of them and was the leader of the Arkology and Flavin is the one who guides Dylan in the Seefra system.
> 
> **********

Beka was not surprised to see Dylan round the corner into the Maru’s galley, a heaviness about him that sloped his shoulders and hunched his back. It was now 2000 hours and had been a long day for them all. As he stepped into the room and under the brighter lighting, she saw how the last year had pressed more wrinkles into his clean-shaven face, especially around the eyes, and sewn a few more grey hairs onto his scalp. How had she not noticed before now the number of years Seefra had put on her friend?

_ Because in Seefra it didn’t matter _ , she thought,  _ In Seefra, the only person who mattered was you. _ A small part of her wished for that hard, lonesome, yet simpler life back. It wished to walk the selfish, less honorable path, the one where missiles didn’t fly because she rescued slave children from Dragon ships.

She bobbed her head in greeting as he stepped into the room and took a seat across from her at the table, leaning his broad shoulders against the bulkheads. Andromeda’s bots had laid out a veritable buffet hours ago—whole fruits and vegetables, a plate of multigrain muffins and bagels, an assortment of dips and spreads, and keep-cool pitchers of water and cali-melon juice—enough food for at least six people. So far, Beka was the only one to touch anything more than a single piece of fruit.

Having food just appear while you slept—and not starving—was a point in favor of this life. She reached out and grabbed a piece of Xinti dragon fruit, her favorite, and took a bite through its bumpy red skin, savoring the sweet and sour juices that exploded on her tongue. She motioned with her chin to the food. Dylan grabbed a plate and placed a seeded bagel on it, spreading it with a generous serving of cream cheese.

A rhythmic thumping rose through the deck plates from the Engine room, interrupted every so often by a crash or metallic twang. Harper at work, rock music blaring at deafening levels beneath their feet. All was not quiet on the Eureka Maru. That was the way Beka liked it—not loud, but alive.

Dylan’s gaze drifted over her shoulder after a particularly loud ring reverberated off the bulkheads, his eyes narrowed. She turned to follow it though she didn’t need to. A crumpled pile of blankets and red hair with a set of golden toes sticking out lay on Trance’s darkened bunk. She was curled up on her side, face smashed into the pillow with fingers clutching the blanket beneath her chin. Trance remained still, not even a twitching at the sudden noise from below decks.

“Has she moved at all since I was here earlier?” Dylan asked, eyebrow raised. Beka shook her head.

“Not a millimeter in three hours. I’ve never seen her sleep so still.” An understatement. Trance was a restless sleeper, rolling around so much Beka thanked the Divine she’d assigned her the bottom bunk all those years ago. And, while she wasn’t a light sleeper who woke at the slightest sound like Harper used to—Earther instincts on overdrive—Beka had frightened her half to death the other night by dropping a metal bottle in the galley. This level of noise should have woken her long ago.

“Huh,” Dylan said, taking a bite of his bagel and shifting his attention back to Beka, eyes flickering thoughtfully. She sensed that he wanted to chat and was grateful for the company. Trance had kept her company earlier after she woke from her injuries, but shortly after Dylan announced he was coming down to get information on their young guest, a sudden and overwhelming need to sleep had overcome Trance—or, more likely, a desperate need to avoid talking to Dylan. Regardless, she must have needed it, as she had been journeying in Dreamland ever since.

Beka loaded a plate with a muffin, some sweet red peppers from Gerilan III, plain old Earth carrots with purple and yellow flesh, and a large scoop of a spicy, creamy dip she didn’t know the name of. No matter. In forty-one-years she had eaten many things whose name and origin were a mystery. At least Andromeda and Trance grew most of this and the auto chef prepared the rest. Her plate overflowed—healing from plasma burns always made her hungry.

"Let’s go to the cockpit,” she said, standing. The skin regenerating beneath her shirt stretched out on an invisible loom, sharp pain pushing through her medication. She winced, bringing a hand up to her side, the dressings a smooth lump beneath the thin fabric of her tank top. It itched. Badly. She imagined millions of tiny bugs crawling around underneath, building her skin up again, like drones in drydock, adding bits piece by piece until it was smooth once more. Goosebumps rose on her arms and she pushed the unpleasant image away, reminding herself that medical nanos were invisible and more than sanitary.

“I’m fine,” she said, catching Dylan’s concerned glance. His bemused expression said he didn’t believe her. Fair enough. Anyone healing from life-threatening burns and a concussion who said she was fine should reconsider her definition of the word, but she could walk. That was good enough for her. She led the way, favoring her uninjured side. The burns still objected. She told them to shut up, never comfortable with authority.

In the cockpit she climbed into her pilot’s chair, as much an easy chair to her as a recliner in a mudfoot’s living room. Dylan sank down on the stairs, balancing his plate on his knee. Here they could chat without disturbing Trance—though Beka was certain she could sleep through an all out assault on the Maru at this point—or worrying about Harper wandering in on their conversation as he scavenged for caffeine or sustenance.

“I don’t know what to do with her,” Dylan admitted.

“Trance?” she asked, making sure.

“Doyle told you the story?”

Beka schooled her expression, putting effort into keeping the muscles of her lips from twitching into an amused smile. She  _ had  _ heard the story of Trance’s brash and heroic actions. Perhaps she might have found it less amusing, less likely to become the stuff of legend, had she been conscious during the crisis and worried about Trance’s safety? However, though tired, Trance had been fine by the time Beka woke and sat nibbling a piece of fruit on her bunk while Doyle regaled Beka with the tale, cheeks flaming almost the color of her pre-Seefran self again.

“Did she actually tell Andromeda she would have to restrain her?” Beka asked. She bit her lip though unrealized laughter colored her tone. Doyle had heard it straight from Rommie, but Trance would neither confirm nor deny. In fact, she’d been quiet the entire conversation, eyes turned down, giving monosyllabic answers when directly queried—embarrassed by her behavior as far as Beka could tell. Beka thought it was brilliant.

“Yes, she did,” he deadpanned. She smiled now. A tiny smile. Just a miniscule curling at the corners of her mouth. Dylan’s feelings were as valid as the situation was amusing. She and Harper had both fallen victim to Trance’s self assuredness before; moments when sweet, loyal Trance pushed forward with what she believed to be the right course of action, head full of steam. An unstoppable force. Until now, Dylan had remained immune to these fits. There was a hint of schadenfreude in watching him take his turn in the dunk tank.

“It isn’t funny,” Dylan said. “She was insubordinate and showed complete disregard for both the command structure and her own safety.”

“She saved my life. Doyle says her nano-programming cut my recovery by days. She performs medical miracles. I’m not sure you’ll get an unbiased opinion from me.” It had been a relief to see Trance’s face there when she woke up, by her side, as always.

Dylan chewed on his bagel for a moment, taking his time, or buying time. Either one. “That’s the problem, isn’t it? Whenever Trance does something like this, she has a good reason. Her heart is always in the right place.”

Beka’s smile stretched, “That’s just Trance. How many times has she told us we shape the Universe with our intentions?” She pinched a piece off the top of her muffin and ate it.

“Good intentions or not, a well run ship has rules and structure. She can’t just circumvent my command because she believes she is right…  _ is  _ right.” Frustration branded each word, burned deeply into the flesh. This was an old argument. A tired one. To Beka, he sounded like he had already chosen to let it go, but needed a reason to justify that decision. “She is off duty for a reason. She overworked herself and might have put herself back on Med Deck.”

Beka took a bite of dragon fruit, buying herself time to fish for the right words. She chewed on the fibrous pulp while her brain combined and disassembled sentence blocks, searching for the correct combination. How did you convince someone predestined to protect another that the best way to protect her might be to take a step back? Especially when just this morning she had been arguing with Harper from Dylan’s side. A lot can happen in a day. And it isn’t like destinies came with users manuals. If they did, neither one of them would be having this conversation, and her side wouldn’t be itching so damn much.

“Dylan, I think you should put her to work,” she said, deciding to go the direct route. He responded best to direct whether he believed it or not.

He stared at her through narrowed eyes and a furrowed brow, one arched a sliver higher than the other.

“How do you figure?” The skepticism in his voice matched his expression. She adjusted herself, wriggling around, searching for relief from the itching. It was so distracting and this was important. Instead of finding relief, her side ached more, voicing its complaint. Fine, forget it. She stopped moving and looked Dylan directly in the eye.

“Trance asked when she could work again. For Trance, that is practically begging. She is feeling disconnected from the only life she knows. She can’t return to any other life at this point. Andromeda, us, her job... It’s all she has,” she explained. “And, she is tired, but fine. Better than fine. She is actually sleeping without tossing and turning or waking up for the first time since she left Med Deck.”

“So, reward her by putting her back to work when I am not even certain it is a good idea?” he asked, his errant eyebrow climbing higher. She rolled her eyes and did nothing to conceal it.

“You are using your captain brain right now,” she told him flatly.

Dylan let out a frustrated sigh. “What brain am I supposed to be using?”

“Your friend brain. It’s not a reward, it’s prevention. Give her back control so she doesn’t feel like she has to take it,” Beka explained, training him with  _ the look _ —a glare that told Dylan she didn’t like the way he was handling her crew. She hadn’t needed to use it in years. “How many times have you ignored Trance’s medical orders? We’ve all done it. You, me, and Harper. Multiple times. How is what she did any different except that she doesn’t have a medical officer to disobey, just a bunch of overprotective friends, one of which happens to be her captain?”

And she had him. She saw it in the way his lips pressed together, and in the way his eyes lost focus. He had taken her words to heart, was parsing them, worrying them through the mechanics of his mind.

“We have a lot of new crew, and more coming. It is understandable that you are in captain mode. You have to be. But when we signed on five-years-ago I made it clear we would never be military. Our crew follows their hearts, Dylan, and Trance most of all.” Why else would she have risked everything and run from her people to protect not just them, but the entire Universe?

“I know,” he said, breathing a great sigh. And then, after a pause, “I’ll have to think about it. Speaking of people who follow their hearts, I didn’t come here to discuss Trance tonight, to be honest. You told me the details earlier, but what really happened out there?”

He could have been angry or annoyed with her actions. God knows she would be back in the day if Harper had gone out to make peace with a client and cowboyed out of the place, guns drawn, taking the client’s property with him instead. Even if that property happened to be another human being. Random acts of heroism led to trouble in the form of missiles, blacklists, and lost business. But Dylan’s tone held a blend of sadness and understanding, trademarks of idealism born in better times. Contagious idealism.

His question was the million throne question, and she didn’t have an answer. She took a pepper, covered its smooth, shiny orange surface with dip and bit into it, taking a moment. The skin snapped beneath her teeth, sweet spice setting fire to her mouth, a pleasant burning sensation.

“I don’t know Dylan. We were about to talk. They took me on a tour of their damned ship—Gardens to rival the Andromeda’s, art and artifacts on every wall and surface, the kind of opulence Nietzscheans use to intimidate you. And slaves. They were everywhere,” she explained, “I’ve been able to ignore them before. I’ve had to trade and work with Nietzscheans my entire adult life. The Dragons aren’t the only ones who enjoy showing humans exactly what they think of them by flaunting their wealth and slaves. I’ve even stood by while Nietzscheans punished their slaves. Some not much older than Jace. But this time… this time I snapped.”

“Perhaps because you feel responsible now?” Dylan asked.

That was the crux of it. She said nothing because he was right. Because the weight of her new responsibilities grew heavier and harder to bear each day. Because without consulting her more rational brain, her heart had decided she wanted to save them all.

She tried to tell herself it was out of character. But, she heard the bass of Harper’s music as he fixed up the Maru. She was sitting here because of Trance’s skill with medicine. Every day she remembered lessons Rev taught her in the years they crewed together—missing him dearly. Broken people. Lost people. People who needed her help. She’d brought them under her wing, gave them shelter on her ship. They’d repaid her kindness tenfold over the years. Her tiny family gave lie to her meek attempts to rationalize selfishness.

“I can’t save them all,” she said finally, voicing her thoughts aloud. She had to hear them.  _ I can’t save them all, _ she repeated silently. A proclamation. A decree. Or, maybe just the start of a mantra to wrap around her heart like a soft blanket and protect it from bruising and breaking when some of who she wanted to protect slipped through the cracks.

“That’s probably true,” he admitted, not throwing his usual, and often misguided, optimism in her direction, “but you are the only person who has a chance.”

And he was right again. Because Dylan was often right. And when he wasn’t, she was there to talk sense into him. Together, perhaps they could figure all of this out  _ and  _ keep their crew healthy and happy.

“Andromeda is still searching for Jace’s family. I will let you know when she finds something.” Dylan said after a moment of silence. Funny, until this moment, she had not stopped to consider the boy’s family, or even to ask if he wanted rescuing. Apparently there was a plague of rash decision making on house Valentine. Something in the Eureka Maru’s air.

It sounded like he was getting ready to leave, and at the moment, she wanted to share her space with him. “We will meet again in happier days,” he’d said outside of Arkology as she prepared to run. They had met again in Seefra, but it had not been a happy meeting. There had been no trust. They’d had to build it up again, brick by brick. But, perhaps even in all the chaos that surrounded them, happier days had arrived, and they were finally meeting again as equals, protectors of their family, and friends.

“Do you have to leave?” she asked. His eyes met hers. The side of his mouth twitched up in a barest hint of a smile.

“No, I think I can stay for a while longer,” he said.

 

********************

 

Dylan climbed into his bed far later than he intended, tired heavy bones sinking into the foam of the mattress. It cradled him in much needed comfort. He arranged his pillows against the headboard and leaned into them, tense shoulders finally releasing. He breathed in, counting to five, and then out again, pushing the day’s stressors out with his breath. They resisted, trying to cling to his insides with tiny barbs, vile little creatures. So he allowed the cycle of breathing to continue until his muscles relaxed and the ribbons constricting his heart released. Now, maybe, he could sleep.

These were the days that tested his resolve, the days where he questioned whether taking on the Universe in a one-on-one battle had been the wisest decision. They were days he wondered why he kept struggling against the undertow, because how bad could it be beneath those brackish waves in that sunken Atlantean world where life was difficult, but still moved on? He could find comfort there. Find a wife. Raise a family. Have what he had lost when he lost Sara.

But, no. He had married his mission when he started this journey. He could not abandon it in good conscience, so the fight would continue until he could no longer drag his bones from his bed.

“Are you ready for your closing report, Captain?” Andromeda asked, appearing at the side of the bed, standing tall, arms behind her back, interrupting his dark thoughts. These thoughts must remain secret. The crew needed his steadfast determination to allay their doubts.

“Go ahead,” he ordered, “But first, I’m sure you have something to say about today?” This was their tradition. Before he slept each night Andromeda filled him in on anything that had happened since he left Command and updated him on what he needed to know about his crew’s side projects. A chance to set the agenda for the next day and allocate his time to those who needed it, provided nothing came up. Also a chance to get Andromeda’s counsel without the distractions of everyday life and duty.

Andromeda tilted her head to the side. “I do not, but my avatar does.”

“I take it she is outside?” he asked, receiving a perfunctory nod. “Come on in Rommie.”

The door hissed open and Rommie entered, hands also behind her back. She stepped into place beside her hologram, twins in appearance and mannerisms, but not in expression. Where Andromeda had maintained a professional visage throughout their time together, Rommie had developed a style of her own and a personality to match it. Rommie smiled warmly.

“Good evening, Captain.”

“Rommie,” he said in greeting, returning her smile, “What is it you wanted to say?”

“I believe Beka is correct and we should return Trance to the duty roster,” she explained. He did not need to ask how she knew what he and Beka had spoken about earlier. Rommie had instantaneous access to anything Andromeda witnessed or overheard. “I have spoken with both Doyle and Harper as she spends most of her free time with them. They seem to believe what transpired today was not unexpected, and in Harper’s opinion, not out of character. She has been growing restless and in my experience, Trance rarely tells us directly what she needs.”

Not for the first time as Captain, he got the impression that his senior staff was ganging up on him. And, while it was uncomfortable, he admired them for challenging him. A captain needed a crew, because while a captain always thought he was right, it was hardly the truth. This appeared to be one of those times when his instincts led him to a different conclusion than everyone else.

That reminded him. He turned to the hologram. “Andromeda, you knew where Trance was heading, yet you didn’t stop her and only contacted me once she was on the Maru. You could have kept her from leaving her room, or from using the lift to get to Deck 15.”

“I did not realize my orders were to imprison Trance,” she replied, one brow arched, a smidgen of sarcasm seasoning her words. He rolled over onto his side, propping himself up with one elbow.

“When you put it like that, it sounds ridiculous.” An understanding of Beka’s words from earlier took form, a ghostly outline gathering substance.

Rommie folded her arms across her chest and raised both eyebrows and pinched her lips together. Neither one said anything, but he saw they agreed. Andromeda spoke first. “In truth, I wanted to see what she would do. She was determined to help Beka and pushed herself harder than she has yet during her rehabilitation.”

“Are you saying she is not trying?” he asked. That didn’t sound like Trance whose progress was miraculous.

“No, I believe Trance is trying quite hard, but is unconsciously holding back out of fear of pain. When I confronted her on her way to the Maru, I observed these fears were no longer limiting her. I wanted to see how far she would go. I was monitoring her life signs and was prepared to intervene in several ways if the need arose.”

There was a common misconception among those with no experience that an AI was a slave to the captain’s will. Many new captains learned the hard way that their ship had a mind of its own and that it did not always sit and wait for a captain to give orders. An AI needed the ability to decide, to run the ship even without an organic at the helm. And, sometimes, it used this power to follow the letter of the law, but not the spirit of it. Andromeda had done her duty. She had ordered Trance to stop and reported the insubordination to Dylan as her programming commanded her to. It was a simple matter of timing.

“And you believe returning her to work will encourage her to push past her fears?”

Andromeda gave a quick nod. “I do.”

“She is not physically capable of carrying out most of her duties.” Time to throw his list of concerns out there and hear what Rommie and Andromeda had to say. He had an open mind, willing to let them talk him into this. By using Andromeda as a sounding board, he would be far more confident of his decision and subsequent plan of action.

Andromeda’s AI popped onto the screen. The entire council now present to advise him. This is how a ship showed she cared. “Trance has taken on more roles than any other crew member given her vast knowledge and experience, and her previously short sleep cycle. Regardless of her current physical abilities, her duties will need revising as I estimate she will need to sleep between nine and ten hours a night as well as take regular breaks and mealtimes like the rest of the crew. I recommend a simple solution to start. Allow her to do routine diagnostics, help Harper complete the paperwork he still hasn’t touched from our time in drydock, and tend to the hydroponics gardens, all at her own pace. I believe Trance capable of setting a reasonable schedule for herself. As you know, the Triumvirs have requested we be present at Tarazed in two weeks for a ceremony to honor the crew. Perhaps after, you can discuss an official return to duty with Trance.”

“There is no reason she cannot complete many of the basic functions of her job as the AG/ES officer with reasonable accommodations. It is her medical responsibilities that pose the biggest challenge. The High Guard has a process in place to reinstate officers during rehabilitation, even from severe illnesses and injuries with extended recovery periods. I have observed that for many organics it is beneficial to their mental health keep busy.” said Andromeda’s hologram.

“And,” Rommie pitched in, “Harper has been sneaking her work for a little over a week and she has not struggled with it.”

“Excuse me, but Harper has been sneaking her work?” he asked. Late night space races using Andromeda. Unscheduled excursions in the Maru. Bickering on Command. Practical jokes and sneaking around. When he thought about Trance and Harper’s renewed best friend status, his imagination conjured up these images. The two of them had sometimes existed in a world of their own, guided by the homage, ‘what the captains don’t know won’t hurt them’. Old habits died hard. Yet, never had he seen two crew members who worked so comfortably together or who seemed to just  _ get _ what the other needed. When working together on a project, combining both their vast intellects, they were a force capable of pulling off miracles, making the trouble they got into well worth it on a ship that consumed a steady diet of miracles to survive.

“They are both suffering from insomnia and Trance goes to the machine shop when she can’t sleep as Harper is always awake. I don’t know the details of what is going on as they engage privacy mode, but I can surmise. Trance has spent years working on her immune boosting nanobots and after a few nights of private conversations they are ready for use. Harper is cute, but he underestimates my powers of deductive reasoning. They aren’t just having heart to hearts every night.”

“And you are just telling me now?”

“It falls in the realm of a personal project, so they aren’t breaking any rules, just being sneaky. Which, is not out of character for either of them. I promise to give Harper a hard time, but not too hard. He is doing it because he wants to make Trance happy.”

Dylan sighed and leaned back on his pillow again. Rommie was right, and he would let this one slide for now. Somehow, surprising him, Harper, who had to have a chaperone during diplomatic gatherings, who offended others not out of malice, but out of an inability to retain knowledge of social graces, seemed to understand what Trance wanted and needed better than the rest of them.

Andromeda’s hologram studied him before speaking again, “As I said before, there is a process in place to reinstate crew members with similar challenges. I wonder if your relationship with Trance might interfering.” Andromeda’s hologram added, perceptive as always. 

Their unique relationship was holding him back. His instincts told him to go one direction while logic dictated he go another. His hidden past, his destiny as a Paradine and Protector, confused his thought process, making objectivity impossible. All the senior staff had become like family to him over the years, but none so close as Trance.

In the old High Guard, if a captain were incapable of making an objective decision about a crew member—for any reason—he was obligated to transfer that crew member to another ship.

_ Not going to happen _ .

“Perhaps you’re right. Tell Trance when she wakes up she is free to do the tasks you listed, but emphasize that she is to rest often. Keep an eye on her life signs and remind her to take it easy at the first sign of overwork. She is not to set foot anywhere near Med Deck unless she is feeling ill. We don’t need her catching every cold onboard. I need to think about what I will say to her, so I will find her sometime tomorrow,” he said, and then added, “It’s best if you don’t tell her that last part so she doesn’t try to avoid me.”

“Understood, Captain,” Andromeda's hologram said with a nod.

“Now, is there anything else I should be aware of?” He rolled back over onto his back, staring at the ceiling, with hands folded on his chest.

“We received word this evening that the Rindrins have settled on an auspicious date for the Commonwealth signing ceremony. The government and priesthood have both requested our presence for a week of festivities ending in the signing ceremony. The event will take place forty-five days from now.” Andromeda reported.

“That should be great for morale. We will tell everyone at the team dinner on Friday,” Dylan said, remembering his time on Rindra 300-years-ago, the ultimate hospitality planet. As far as he understood, they had weathered the Long Night well.

“In other, not so great news,” Rommie said, “There are reports of unusual solar activity in the Tagus system. it seems the sun is slowly changing orbit and moving towards the seven planets in the system, and it has scientists baffled.”

Great. Seefra all over again. Only this time there was no braking system and no discernable reason for the sun to relocate. Of course scientists were baffled, they did not understand celestial bodies were sentient. At least having Andromeda scan the news daily for any abnormalities involving stars, planets, and moons—such as a sun changing orbit—was paying off. They had enough warning now to investigate and help if the need arose.

“Start gathering all the information you can from the Tagus system. Find out how fast the sun is moving. We need to prepare to facilitate evacuations. Once we have more information, I’ll see what Trance might know.”

“Aye, Captain. It may take some time to gather intel. I will send a courier out in the morning,” Rommie replied. For once Dylan thought it was best if the information took a few days to arrive. This just surpassed Trance’s recent behavior as the topic he least wanted to broach with her.

“What about Jace?

“We still haven’t located his family. He was eight-years-old when the Dragons took him and he does not remember the name of his planet. He knows it was a slave planet, and he thinks the Drago Kasov was the Pride in charge that he was not taken by another pride and sold to the Dragons. We are running his dialect through our databases and trying to match it to one of the 416 slave planets the Drago Kasov run either independently or with allied prides,” Andromeda’s AI explained.

“As for right now, he seems to have settled in well with Ensign Clark. She is more than happy to watch over him for the duration of his stay onboard and he is enjoying the toys and books I found in storage.” Andromeda’s hologram explained. Dylan tried not to think about the children who those toys were meant for. Had they survived the war? Were their descendants now living on Terazed? At least now the toys brought a small amount of joy and comfort to a child who’d had little of it so far in his short life.

_ That child could have been Harper _ , Dylan thought. And it brought Harper’s personality and sometimes troubling behavior into perspective. Every so often he needed the reminder that Harper’s childhood resembled nothing that existed in the Commonwealth Dylan knew, and that five years in this world was not enough time to grasp the struggles his crew had been through. It was a miracle he survived at all, that he hadn’t become  a slave, that he was loyal to and loved his friends the way he did. Dylan needed to remember to ask Harper how the search for the Earthers was going, and if there was anything he could do to help.

“Thanks for letting me know. Keep up the search and let both Beka and I know immediately if you find anything. Beka should be back on her feet tomorrow. Is there anything else?” he asked.

“No, Captain,” the three said in unison.

“Well, then. Goodnight Andromeda.” The hologram and AI repeated his goodnight and winked out. Rommie smiled and bowed slightly.

“See you in the morning, Captain,” she said before turning on her heel and walking out the door, arms behind her back, swaying her hips as she moved, a baffling trait she’d picked up after being rebuilt, as if a little bit of Doyle had remained with her.

The lights dimmed until only the various nightlights around the room illuminated his possessions. He settled in and pulled the blankets to his chest. Too many thoughts crowded his skull tonight. Too many loose threads that needed to weaving together. He sensed a significance in these events, but the details eluded him, danced away like fireflies in the night, shining their light here and there for a couple of seconds before fading away and reappearing somewhere else.

When sleep descended on him bringing with it comfort and warmth he was thinking of Trance and wondering why a sun would shift out of orbit knowing she would destroy her planets and moons in doing so.

 

********************

 

He stepped out of the fog of sleep into a beautiful world of contradictions. He had been here before, yet he had never seen anyplace like it. His surroundings felt unfinished, a painter's canvas with just the first few layers added. Yet the tree beside him, stretching up to a sky of blue crystal dotted with puffs of white clouds, must have been thousands of years old. Its trunk, if hollowed, would seat five people, and the reddish brown bark was thick and weathered. Branches stretched out wide, far above his head, millions of dark green leaves dappling the sunlight as it sank towards the humus covered ground.

This place was a dream, yet he was aware, his senses as alive as they were in the waking world. A sea of green surrounded him. Soft ground gave way beneath his boots, a peaty scent rising from the disturbed soil to mingle with the perfume of flowers and the incense-like aroma of sun-heated wood. It was almost too much to take it. Giants stood tall around him, sloping trunks in every shade of brown and ringed with vines, some whose branches were adorned with tiny leaves that rattled in the breeze and others with giant sheets of green that folded together, creating an almost human whisper. In the distance a brook or stream bubbled. But amidst the music of wind and water no rodents chattered, no birds called, and no insects buzzed about, flitting from flower to flower. A forest alive, but empty of life.

The biggest contradiction was not in his surroundings, but within himself. He was of two minds—Captain Dylan Hunt of the Andromeda Ascendent and someone else, less familiar, who was a part of him, and knew why he was here. He had a mission he could not fail. The hidden part of himself that Flavin, Marlowe, and even Trance alluded to was inside him, and this was his memory. He let that other Dylan Hunt, the Paradine, take control, curious and apprehensive to unlock the door to his past.

A neat dirt path lined with tall grass and wildflowers wended its way through the forest, the foliage blocking its end from view. Who he was looking for would be at the end of the path. How could anyone live in this wild, unfinished, place?

He stepped onto the trail meandering with purpose as it stretched through more dense forest. The sound of the stream increased until he rounded a curve and saw it. On the banks, near a bridge, kneeled child in a green dress with flowers in her short blonde curls. Her skin shimmered like crushed amethysts in a spot of sunlight that broke through a gap in the canopy. She had not noticed him, intent as she was on whatever she held cupped in her tiny hands.

He stepped back, hiding himself, unsure of why. Perhaps he didn’t want to frighten or disturb her. Or, perhaps he was curious. From this vantage, he saw her in profile. She appeared to be five or six-years-old, but her true age had to be in the hundreds of millions if measured in Vedran years.

“Life. Energy. Creation,” she chanted in the language of the Lambent Kith, repeating it over and over, eyes fixed on her hands. After a minute or two, she stopped and let out a frustrated growl.

“Sister, what is wrong?” another voice called. Out of a tall tree dropped another purple child in brown trousers, a flurry of leaves following in his wake. He fell head first before catching himself with his tail, then flipped mid air so he landed on his feet. He too had flowers woven in his hair and he stood bare chested before his sister with necklaces of woven grass and vines wound about his neck. Their faces were almost identical, with only minute differences to confuse the observer.

“I can’t do it,” she said, lips pinching into a pout that Captain Hunt knew well. Trance. His Trance—so young. The realization shocked him. Then again, what other Lambent Kith child would he be dreaming about?

“You are giving up too fast,” the boy chided. “Just concentrate more. You are always dreaming.”

“Help me, please. I  _ am _ concentrating, it just won’t work.” Her tone approached a whine.

He sighed “All right, but next time you have to do it yourself.” The boy knelt in front of her, placing his hands on hers and gave a nod.

“Life. Energy. Creation,” they chanted together. A light grew around their hands as they chanted, and when they finished it faded away. He removed his hands from hers. They both stared at her closed hands in anticipation. She opened them and from them a yellow butterfly with orange markings flitted, dancing around their heads before lighting on her nose. They giggled, sounding every bit like the children they appeared to be. The butterfly lifted into the air once more.

Dylan must have moved or made a sound in his amazement because she turned her head towards the tree he’d concealed himself behind.

“Hello?” she called, “Who is there? There is no need to hide.”

The boy, all of a meter tall, stood and moved between his sister and Dylan, legs parted, fists on his hips. The hero’s stance. She peered past him with her dark eyes, waiting for Dylan to reveal himself, posture open and trusting, unburdened by fear.

He stepped out of his hiding place, holding his hands out to show he meant no harm. She smiled brightly from behind her brother who watched with suspicious eyes. Captain Hunt knew Trance and understood her welcoming and kind nature, but the Paradine inside had never met the girl. Instead, he knew her brother—a broken a defeated man in a future he was desperate to prevent. She had perished at the hands of the Abyss in his time, long before he could meet her.

“You can understand me,” she said. The children, too, were contradictions. Children with children’s mannerisms who spoke with the wisdom and vocabulary of aged adults.

Her brother looked back at her, as if to will her to stop talking while he assessed situation, to use caution. Captain Hunt allowed himself a silent laugh. Might as well will the stream at their feet to flow uphill instead of down if Trance had already decided he wasn’t a threat. His memory briefly pulled up an image of HG, the bio-contact unit sent to them by the Consensus of Parts, how she had befriended him in an instant and fought to protect him when everyone else onboard meant to harm him. The girl put a hand on her brother’s leg. “It is all right.”

Dylan took a tentative step forward. The boy did not move, and Dylan took that as guarded permission to come closer. When he was a few steps away and could smell the coolness of the flowing water he squatted down, hands on his knees, his feet sinking into the muddy bank.

“Yes,” he answered in Vedran. The Paradine Dylan did not speak the language of the Lambent Kith, only understood it, yet the other Paradine had told him the children spoke Vedran.

The boy’s gaze darted down to his sister, then back up to Dylan, eyes sharp, unwavering. Though diminutive in size, his presence loomed over Dylan, as if the trees surrounding them were an extension of him, looking down their noses at this unwelcome trespasser. “You are not Vedran. I do not know what you are.” He continued to speak his language.

The girl leaned to see Dylan better, but without looking, her brother shifted to obscure her view. She rolled her eyes and stood, lips drawn in a stubborn line. She stepped to the side, and he put an arm out in front of her chest to block. With an audible huff of frustration she ducked beneath it and darted forward. He lunged, hand stretched out to grab her by her dress, or possibly the tail, but nimble steps, performed with the grace of a gymnast, carried her away too fast. A dance of wills, one well practiced.

“He is a friend, that is all that matters,” she said in Vedran, casting a taunting sneer over her shoulder. A look that said,  _ I win _ . It reminded Captain Hunt of Trance and Harper in the early days though Trance had thought he did not see how she egged Harper on.

“You do not know that.” Back to the song of the Kith. No wonder Trance argued and evaded so effectively—she had billions of years experience dancing in verbal circles and parrying words.

She stopped in front of Dylan, her eyes at the same level as his as he crouched. “What are you if you are not Vedran and how did you find this place? This is our…” she trailed off, searching for the Vedran word. Her eyes lit up when she found it. “This is our  _ school _ . We created all that is here. It is not connected to the other worlds.”

“I am Paradine. I came to find your mother, to speak with her. My people led me here,” he explained, keeping to the basic details. Flavin had warned the other Dylan in his jovial manner not to misjudge the twins, for children they might be, but children whose minds were as old as the universe. Perceptive. Intelligent. Tricksters by nature. The same as all Lambent Kith children. The older Paradine had met them in another timeline, or perhaps earlier in the same—impossible to tell. Flavin never said what he meant.

He had called them trouble, then. “Especially the girl, Dear One. She’ll cause you no end of grief. Watch out for her.” His words, as usual, were wrapped in a cloak of mystery. But there was laughter in his voice, a sparkle of fondness in his eyes, and a smile half hidden by his snowy beard.

“You are out of your time,” the girl said, searching his eyes with hers. “I sense that this is not your place. You are both here, and elsewhere, in another time and place right now.”

“Sister…” the boy warned.

“I will take you to mother.” She turned to her brother. “Brother, let mother decide. How can he hurt us? We are avatars.” Then, she reached out a hand to Dylan. He hesitated for a moment, glancing at the boy who did not seem convinced. The boy had already learned to guard his true self. Or perhaps he was simply born with a more careful personality than his sister. But Captain Hunt knew Trance would learn to hide herself as well one day only to forget again in Seefra. He made a decision and took her hand then offered his other to the boy. He looked to his sister, then to Dylan, and stepped forward taking Dylan’s other hand.

“It is this way,” he said, pointing to the stone bridge which seemed to have grown from one bank to the other right from the earth. “My sister senses good in you, but you do not belong, so I am unsure. We will let mother decide.”

And with that, Captain Hunt woke far from that beautiful hidden world to the shadows in his dim room, yet somehow, warmth clung to his skin and the scent of that sun kissed forest lingered around him.

 


	13. Life

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I have come to the point where I have diverged enough from the original text of this story that things are taking longer to write. My plan is to post every two weeks on Fridays. Thanks for sticking with me so far!
> 
> *******************

He heard her footsteps first, directly above, moving across the deck. He looked over as a pair of soft leather slouchy boots with sensible flat soles poked through the opening in the deck, one boot stretching down, searching for the next rung on the ladder. With the first one mastered the boots continued their careful descent revealing a pair of thin legs wrapped in dark green leggings, followed by hips draped in emerald, a grey satchel pressed against one side. Stretch, tap, move.

Slow.

Steady.

Halfway down the pace slowed to a near halt, carefulness giving way to uncertainty. Time to intervene.

He stood, disconnecting himself from the mainframe and untangling his limbs from the mess of tangled wires he had pulled from the console, leaving them behind in a colorful jumble on the deck to sort out later with Andromeda grumbling at him about rewiring her to spec. Or some other such nonsense only important to organized people.

“Lemme guess, after yesterday you’re feeling invincible and decided that this is it, today is the day you conquer the ladders?” He took position just below her, looking up through the opening.

“Something like that.” Her voice lacked confidence. From this angle he could not see her expression, but her knuckles were white as she held tight to the bar.

“How’s that working out for you?” After yesterday’s performance, it was better to let her seek help than assume she needed it.

“About as well as you’d expect. Not my most well thought out of plans,” she said shakily. He assessed the situation, calculating his height against her position on the ladder in case she needed a rescue. Why hadn’t the gods, in their infinite wisdom, seen fit to bless him with Dylan’s height? His biceps wouldn’t hurt either.

“Hold on, I think I can do this,” she said after a moment. She tilted her head. He now saw the determined set of her jaw, and the deep lines of concentration on her forehead. After taking a deep breath and letting it out in a slow audible stream, she reached down to the next rung, giving it a tentative tap with her boot. Assured of its location, she let go with one hand, grabbed the next rung down, settled in, then followed with the next foot. Step by painstaking step on shaky legs and trembling arms she moved down. Making it.

Until she wasn’t.

Three rungs from the bottom she landed on the side of her foot, twisting her ankle. As her foot slipped she tried to catch herself, but her arms, already overworked, weren’t up to the task and she fell backwards.

Where the gods had skimped on his height, they had made up for in quick thinking and fast reflexes. He darted forward and caught her, setting her upright in front of him before she fell to the ground. They stood with their noses only a few centimeters apart, her lips parted, eyes wide, filled with confusion and surprise. He was surprised, too.

On Earth, and pretty much anywhere else in the known worlds, she would not have survived her illness Not without massive amounts of money. If she had, and against all the odds woken up, she would still be confined to her bed, unable to walk more than a few steps. But, with Andromeda’s pre-Fall medical facilities, access to cutting edge treatments on the High Guard’s dime—partly because of connections he’d forged in the scientific community—and a lot of hard and painful work, emphasis on hard, she had almost made it down a ladder less than a month after waking. Would have made it if she hadn’t stepped wrong. Score one for Trance, still working miracles.

“Thanks for the rescue,” she said after several long moments, a half smile on her lips. Harper realized that he was staring at her, mouth agape. About the same time, he also noticed his hands, which had somehow landed on the space above her hip bones of their own volition, were not touching fabric, but bare skin.

He broke eye contact to look down, surprised to find that while her dress, a simple long-sleeved affair that flared out at the hip and cut off mid thigh, had looked solid from the back, an oval cutout stretched from one hip to the other across her midriff. His eyes lingered on the red and gold that surrounded her navel before he thought to look up again.

 _How long before this gets awkward?_ He asked himself. _If you have to ask, it already has._ _Crap._ _Okay, just move your hands. No big deal. Happens all the time._

His hands defied him, remaining in place, her body heat radiating through them.

“You’re, um, welcome,” he replied, flustered.

_What the hell, Seamus?_

The Maru was a small ship and Trance’s clothing hadn’t always been so modest. It wasn’t like he hadn’t touched her bare skin before. Or seen her flat stomach. Or watched her walking around with nothing but a towel wrapped around her. Or observed the curve of her hipbones, airbrushed in red and gold disappearing beneath the waistband of her pants... How far did that dusting of color go down?

_Don’t. Even. Go. There._

Curious Harper would get him into trouble one day. Surprising he hadn’t already.

“When I said drop by anytime, I didn’t mean literally,” he said after a beat as she did not seem inclined to speak. Impressive, the tone of practiced nonchalance that slipped out of his mouth. Nothing to see here. “Not that I’m not happy to catch you anytime, but if you’d called down, I would’ve come up to you.”

Her face was so close. For a second he wondered what would happen if he leaned in and kissed her. Oh boy, he needed to take a step back. But, how to do that without making the situation even more awkward? What was it with women and their beautiful curves and their soft warm skin and their smelling like sunshine and flowers? Okay, that last part was just Trance. And why did she have that thoughtful spark in her eyes? On second thought, nothing there. Just an overactive imagination on his part.

_Control yourself, man._

“I know. I wanted to see if I could make it and almost did. It’s wonderful," She smiled, cute little parenthesis forming around her lips. Lips he was definitely not thinking about.

 _She_ should pull away. It would saved him a lot of trouble. Instead she stayed in place, looking at him with those soul searching eyes as his hands happily remained where they were, held there by force of gravity. Had to be gravity because he had lost control.

 _Say something_.

“That’s a nice dress.”

_Not that._

A congratulations might have been a better option. Perhaps telling her it _was_ wonderful she made it so far down? A note she seemed well rested and happy after fourteen hours of sleep, even. But, no. Instead, he commented on her dress. Way to call attention to the fact he was a little more appreciative of it than he ought to be.

Her eyebrows did a quick little jump, eyes twinkling beneath them. Her smile stretched even larger before she pulled her lips together, biting one corner, eyes fixed on him, glinting playfully. She found something amusing. He didn’t have to guess what. Started with H, ended with R.

“I found it in a box of old things at the back of my closet. I don’t think I ever wore it, but it’s comfortable,” she explained. Come to think of it, she _had_ been favoring the curve hugging softer fabrics she had worn when purple instead of the more formal outfits of the last year...

He told his brain to stop fixating on Trance’s clothing. It misfired and instead flashed pictures of his favorites from her old wardrobe. Those hot pants she used to wear on the Maru could make a comeback, perhaps with that little bikini top. His eyes strayed down once more to where his hands rested and he snapped them back up again, concentrating on maintaining eye contact.

She followed his gaze and pulled her lips into a tight-lipped grin—a barrier to hold back laughter. Couldn’t keep it out of her eyes though. Couldn’t stop her shoulders from dancing. He swallowed. If he didn’t know better, he would swear she was flirting with him without saying a word.

“What are you doing in the Communications Hub?” she asked after a few decades of silence. As she changed the subject, she pulled away, and he got the distinct impression she was letting him off the hook. Giving him a graceful way out. How thoughtful.

His hands remained suspended in the air for a moment before he let them drop to his sides, the surrounding air suddenly empty, nothing but static. Cold even. He turned and watched her sidestep the safety hazard he’d left on the deck and kneel in front of the open console, surveying his work with open curiosity. She grabbed his diagnostic flexi, looking it over for clues. When he didn’t move towards her, she looked up over her shoulder, an eyebrow raised, grin still there. Okay, not completely off the hook.

He collected himself, forcing himself to change gears. He _had_ to change gears. Start down a new track. Shake it off. Whatever one did when he considered kissing his best friend. Because, while he rarely took notice of this sort of thing, Trance was out of his league. Galaxies out, in fact. Her brother was the freaking Sun. What did a sun do if you broke his sister’s heart? Friendship was good. Friendship was safe.

Now if only his hormones would listen.

“I’m trying to track down the static residue from the resistance message, but all I have here is a mess,” he said and made his way over. Good. His voice didn’t betray him. She looked up from the flexi, wrinkled her nose and poked at the pile. A wire sparked, and she jerked her hand back, a squeak escaping into the air.

“Mess is an accurate description,” she said with a laugh. Then, tone more serious, “If there is any residue left in the static out there, the signature going to be miniscule, almost impossible to detect. It’s been long enough that by now that the will have spread out pretty far. Far enough to make the search area too large to be useful.”

He moved over and sat down next to her, the pile of wires between them. She pressed a few commands into the diagnostic flexi and then passed it to him. She poked the wires again, no sparks this time.

“I know, but if—and I know it’s a big if—I _can_ find it, there should be a denser trail of residue following the path of the original message. It’s all I have to go on,” he said. She took off her satchel, set it off to the side, and settled in cross legged next to the wires, taking a red one into one hand she traced its path through the maze with the other.

“If you manage to find the residue, it could take months to gather enough data to extrapolate a location, and it will only give us a general direction,” she said. Up, around, through. Her fingers moved quickly to turn chaos into order. The red wire was already free, set neatly off to the side. “But it’s a start. What do we need to do to make it happen?”

She had said ‘we’. His heart jumped for some inexplicable reason. He nudged the wires with his toe. “First, we need to make sense of all this.”

She looked up from her work, searching his face. “You aren’t the most organized person, but this is a little beyond the usual. Pulling all the wires out of the console? Are you all right?”

Anger flared from the smouldering coals he’d been harboring in his gut since yesterday. Anger he had been trying to control. His stomach roiled from the heat of it. He clenched his jaw down tight, biting back the venomous reply that tried to slither past his lips, his inner voice reminding him in a firm tone the she asked out of care, not to have her head bitten off. Not her fault the Universe sucked. Trance’s eyes widened at the change in his demeanor.

“I’m just peachy,” he said after a few beats in which he wrestled unsuccessfully with his demons. He slammed his fist onto the deck beside him. Pain like lightening jolted through his wrist. “It’s not like I spent an entire afternoon and night cleaning up another fucking mess created by the fucking Drago Kasov right after they tried to kill yet another person I love. Story of my life, and I am getting really freakin’ tired of it.”

She froze in place, holding two wires in her hands. Her her gaze bored into him. He immediately regretted losing control. This morning she had come to him in a good mood for once, and he had to ruin it. Way to go Harper. Her lips parted and then closed, turning down into a frown with deep lines around her eyes to keep it company.

“I was worried about you after yesterday, but I ended up sleeping a lot longer than I expected,” she said, finally. “I wanted to come to you sooner.” Her hands began to move again, teasing wires free. Another two came loose, and she laid them out next to the first. Afterwards, she set her hands on her lap, palms down.

“Don’t be sorry. You needed the sleep and you shouldn’t miss out on it because of me.”

“You need sleep too. Did you even go to bed last night?” A fair question as it was just after 0500 and yesterday’s pants looked a little worse for wear. No hope for his face. Reminded of his exhaustion, he reached for the can of Sparky Cola resting on a ledge above the console and gulped down a large mouthful, the sweet and slightly warm bubbles burning his throat.

“I slept on the Maru for like four hours,” he said defensively.

“I didn’t even hear you climb up there,” she said with a hint of amazement.

“Yeah, you were pretty out. How’re you feeling?”

She adjusted her position and stretched her back. “Better than I have at all since all this happened. Except my back kinda hurts. And I was starving when I woke up.”

“Yeah, backs don’t like to be in the same position for fourteen hours straight. I...” he trailed off.

 _...could give you a massage to help_. At least he stopped himself from saying it aloud. Not hitting on Trance was turning out to be more difficult than expected. She tilted her head to the side, studying him. The twinkle returned. As if she knew what he had intended to say. A few unreadable expressions danced across her face before she settled on a mixture of calm and concern once again. And once again he felt she was letting him off the hook.

“I don’t know if it helps, but they weren’t trying to kill Beka,” she said, returning to their earlier subject. “It was an unlucky shot. I believe they were sending a warning to her, to us, and to all other prides that would ally themselves with her. They will not accept Beka as their matriarch. But they had not meant to hurt her. In hurting her, they have put a target on themselves. Beka’s DNA is irrefutable and the other prides will back her once they have tested it themselves.”

A sound theory. Well grounded experience. It didn’t help. Not really. But he’d never tell.  “Well the others can’t turn on them fast enough.”

“There is more to this. Something in my gut is telling me so. Like I told Beka yesterday, something is making them brave enough to gamble with their survival. Before, I would have assumed it was the Abyss, but now, I just don’t know,” she said, a sharp edge to her final words. The vestiges of her good mood flaked away. They were a fine pair. Prickly balls of angst, the both of them, rolling through the highs and lows of life at breakneck speed.

Silence fell. She worked at the wires and he scanned his flexi, committing to memory the path each wire needed to follow to give this control node more power. First step in his plan to pull off a miracle. Because finding an unspecified number of human beings who didn’t want to be found in three galaxies worth of stars was nothing short of miracle.

“There, that should do it,” she said. The wires stretched out in rows before her. Nice and neat.

“Thanks,” he replied and put down the flexi. This part of his project was pretty routine, and would result in a communications boost across the entire ship. Clearer messages. Quicker load times. Nothing to complain about that. The next step… well, he hadn’t figured it out yet. But he had ideas. Lots of them. And he would say that the majority didn’t involve the risk of catastrophic failure, unlike many of his brain children.

He yawned.

“Harper, I wish you would let me get you something to help you sleep.”

“Are you going to take something to help you sleep?” he asked. Sure, why not sound childish and throw it back at her? He only wanted to be friends. God, she was right. He needed sleep.

“The effects of sleeping supplements are well studied in human subjects. I have no idea what they will do to me.” The sharp edge again. He should have learned to think before he spoke by now.

“I don’t know, Trance. Not a big fan of taking medicine to sleep.”

“Not a big fan of medicine, or of sleep?” she asked, but did not press him further, falling into silence again. A hint of their shared experience. Sleep brought nightmares. Yet, a body craved it, needed it to thrive. He didn’t know what he needed. A draft of forgetfulness, perhaps?

He scooted in closer so he was in front of the console. He felt her presence there, her gaze on him while he worked. How many hours had they passed this way over the years? He wrapped in mechanical zen, she in her thoughts? Just together.

This wire here. That one there. Close the circuit. Check the charge. He had control over machines—unless they were Rommie or Doyle—but that was a different story. Sometimes he wished he could become a machine himself and avoid all this complicated and unpredictable _life_ business.

“I wanted to thank you for not arguing with me yesterday,” she said after a bit. He looked up from his work to acknowledge her and turned back.

“You’re the one always telling me that arguing gets you nowhere.” He plugged in his dataport, wincing at the pressure in his neck. A moment later he was granted access. He keyed in on the circuits he’d already plugged in, checking the power flow. Everything was working out. He could solder it down.

She laughed. “I guess sometimes arguing does work. Andromeda told me this morning I am back on duty, per Dylan. I’m not allowed on Med Deck, but I can help you and work in hydroponics freely now. She also said you haven’t finished any of the paperwork from the overhaul?”

He wrinkled his nose. “I knew I was forgetting something.”

Yeah, forgetting to figure out a way out of the bureaucratic hell of requisition slips and function reports.

She laughed again. “You’re hopeless.”

She wasn’t wrong. He tossed a lopsided smile over his shoulder.

“I try. Hey, since you are supposed to help me, can you hand…” he started to ask, but before he finished, she placed the nanowelder he needed in his open hand.

“How do you do that? I have to ask Beka for specific tools, but you always hand me exactly what I need before I ask.” He looked up from the console with an eyebrow raised. She smiled and shrugged.

“I’m just observant.” Traditional non-answer answer. “You hungry? I brought a snack.” Followed by a change in subject. Classic. He let it slide. She reached over and grabbed her satchel.

“Yeah. I grabbed a muffin on my way off the Maru, but that was like two hours ago.” He put down the nanowelder she’d just handed him, disconnected, and moved to sit next to her, back against the bulkheads, as she opened the flap of her bag and pulled out two insulated bottles. She passed one to him.

“What’s in here?” he asked.

“A milkshake,” she replied. He eyed the bottle, twisting it in his hands, its smooth metal brushing his palms. “A real one. Or, as close to real, at least. I programmed the autochef for the right amount of fat and sugar based on Andromeda’s records. I had to use synthetic milk, though, since I don’t have a clue where to get cow’s milk. Maybe Rigel?” The last part she said as an apology. He stared at her, couldn’t help it. Did she even realize how amazing she was? She shrunk back a little. Blinked a few times, fingers tapping her bottle.

“I’ve never had a real shake before. You seem to like them, and after everything that happened yesterday, I thought we might indulge a little,” she explained. He hadn’t meant to make her self conscious. It should be easier than this to talk to your best friend.

“This is great. Better than great.” He twisted the top off his bottle to prove his point and flashed her his most appreciative expression. She relaxed.

She winked a conspiratorial wink. “It’s made with coffee so it can claim to be a breakfast drink.”

“You don’t like coffee. You never have. And have you ever had more caffeine than was in the chocolate I gave you?”

She shrugged. “No, but it’s better to try caffeine in a controlled setting then accidentally drink it without knowing its effects on me. You humans put it in everything.” A small shake of of her head told him how strange she found the myriads of ways in which Humans consumed their ritual doses of mild stimulant. He chose not to enlighten her about caffeinated soap and other such wonders to be found in drift catalogs. “And, I like coffee just fine, as long as it has as much sugar as a Sparky Cola mixed in.”

Fair points.

He took a drink.

Funny how single a sip could take him back to happier days. To surfing for the first time on Infinity, Beka egging him on. She didn’t believe he knew how to swim, and surfing was unfathomable in her Spacer mind. Her exact words were, “Only a crazy person would submerse themselves in unfiltered water voluntarily, and don’t get me started on those idiots on boards out there.”

Well, he thought, he was good on a hoverboard and could swim, how different could it be? With all the bravado of an overly confident 20-year-old under the influence of alcohol he had held his hand out for her credit chip to rent a wetsuit and board.

Until the moment he stepped in the water, icy cold like the Boston harbor—but a lot cleaner—Beka had been all laughter and jabs. Real worry flashed in her eyes when she realized he was going through with it. Apparently, it had only taken two months of sharing a ship for her to to care. He didn’t tell her he had never surfed before. Some things were better left unsaid. Turned out, surfing was quite different than hoverboarding. His stunt might have ended him, drowned him beneath an uncaring wave. But, the Universe had given him a pass, the first of many to come. He had been a natural.

Surfing had felt like flying. Like freedom.

Good times.

“The first time I had a shake the first time I was on Infinity Atoll with Beka at this little hole-in-the-wall restaurant in the Human Sector that tries to replicate 20th century American culture. I couldn’t believe it. You can’t… couldn’t find ice cream in Boston,” he said, staring at a point on the wall, unfocused. “They have a lot of old Earth culture on Infinity, probably because of the surfing.”

He sighed, “It’s hard to let go, you know? I keep thinking of all the things I will never see again.”

“You don’t have to let go, because Earth will always be a part of you. And I don’t mean just memories.” She touched his arm, and he blinked his eyes into focus, turning towards her again. Her eyes flickered with, what? He could not read her the way she could read him. Didn’t need to though. Whatever it was, it was rooted in love. That much was clear. “You grew from the tiniest embryo sustained by the food from Earth’s soil and the water from her lakes and rivers. Every cell in your body was grown on Earth and infused with her energy, just as every living thing born to her was. Energy can never be created or destroyed, only transported from place to place. You were born on Earth, so a part of you _is_ Earth.”

No words existed for the emotions swirling inside or to tell her how her words both hurt and brought comfort.

“If I could take your pain away, heal it the way I’ve healed your illnesses over the years, I would. There is no cure for this. Perhaps all you can do is accept that a part of yourself is gone, mourn for it, and find a way to honor it,” she continued when he remained silent.

She wasn’t just talking about him.

He gave a slow nod, gazing at her serious face through half closed lids. Moisture built beneath those lids, and he blinked it away. Children learned early on Earth that tears were the only plentiful currency, and also utterly useless. She reached for her bag again and pulled out a slender object. His penny whistle.

“I found this on the floor next to my bunk this morning, but you were nowhere around,” she said, handing it to him. He’d left it on his bunk the other day. It must have fallen off in his sleep last night as he thrashed about. He took it from her. It was heavy in his hands though not from actual weight.

“My cousin, Brendon, gave this back to me last time I was on Earth. I threw it in my parent’s grave when I was thirteen, but he rescued it. I still haven’t played it. Just carried it around with me from place to place. I was going to play for him when I found his grave,” he explained.

Another memory. His dad playing. His mom singing. They had escaped the slums for a day. Traveled to the outskirts of Boston to a place greener than any he had ever seen before for a picnic hosted by Wayist monks trying their hardest to give kids in the most impoverished areas of Earth a chance to have fun. To be children. He’d played soccer with his cousins, ate his fill of fresh food, forgotten for a moment he was a worthless Kludge.

His parents hadn’t if the music they had chosen to play was any indication.

Hard to believe it had been seventeen years since he’d last seen them, the image was so sharp in his mind. His mother’s sweet voice so clear. He spoke aloud the words his mother sang in his memory.

“But when ye come and all the roses falling  
And I am dead as dead I well may be  
Go out and find the place where I am lying  
And kneel and say an ave there for me.”

Trance leaned in. “What is that?”

“The first song my father taught me how to play. Danny Boy. It’s a ballad from the early 20th century. Thousands of years old. The tune is Irish, and much older.”

“The words are beautiful.”

“The song is more so.” He rolled the flute in his hands. A piece of his father. A piece of his heritage. A piece of Earth. A part of himself he had tried to bury years ago.

Find a way to honor the part of him that was missing.

Did he even remember how?

He pressed the flute to his lips then pulled it away. He hadn’t played since he was thirteen. Trance nodded her encouragement. He replaced it and took a deep breath. Then he played. It wasn’t perfect. A few stumbles in the beginning. But his fingers eventually remembered the hours of practice he’d put in as a child. He closed his eyes as he played, and he let his memories flow as the notes fell from his whistle, filling the room with his melancholy, giving him some of the release tears could not. And all the while, Trance sat beside him, simply listening.

 

********************

 

Hydroponics, deck one, section three. The part of the gardens hit hardest by water shortages on Seefra. Once bubbling fish ponds had dried up and moisture loving fruits and flowers withered and died as Andromeda took water from them to sustain the more important oxygen producing vegetation. Andromeda had sent bots in to clean the section up months ago, leaving rows of bare, neglected beds of soil and an empty pond. Dylan should have known he would find Trance here.

He held back for a moment, watching. She knelt inside a raised bed, trowel in hand, twisting the dark soil loose. She looked at peace, though if Rommie were to be believed she’d been flitting about the ship all morning with unprecedented energy, as if some of Harper’s hyperactivity had infected her. The air smelled of earth, and something sweet. A persistent trickle from the refilled ponds greeted his ears. Behind her rested a pallet of two dozen wide leafed plants in biodegradable pots. A mixture of white flowers and heart-shaped fruits adorned them. In another bed which had been empty, he was surprised to see a row of trees with shiny red apples, of all things. Two faceless bots stood some distance away, hands folded in front of them, waiting to provide assistance if needed. Heavy lifters.

She turned to reach for a plant and caught him in her peripheral vision, looking up and smiling. She had tucked a few white, lace-edged flowers next to her ear. Maybe it was the flowers. Maybe just the freshness of the dream, but for a moment he saw the child she had been kneeling there instead of the woman she was. So much had changed, yet her welcoming smile had remained the same. But now was not the time for dreams. Dreams could wait.

“It’s okay, you can come in,” she said, motioning with her trowel to the space beside her. Soil clung to her hands and dirtied her dress. She didn’t seem to mind. “I promise I won’t run away.”

As he stepped closer, he noticed labels scattered throughout the beds of soil, and on the racks where smaller plants usually grew. A pattern emerged as he read the names written on them in her neat handwriting.

“You’re filling this section with flora from Earth,” he commented as he took a seat on the ledge beside her. From this vantage he saw the heart shaped fruits better. Some were bright red, others white and green, all speckled with tiny beige seeds. He didn’t know what they were. Long ago he had given her free reign to plan and order for the hydroponics without seeking approval as long she maintained the proper ratios for oxygen production. These were her gardens, and as much a labor of love as a part of her job.

“Yes, a small memorial. It isn’t much, but I would like to honor her,” she said, voice catching, smile fading into a mask of stoic resignation.

“That’s a great idea. Want some help?” He found that these conversations were often easier held with something to occupy your hands.

“If you don’t mind getting your hands dirty.”

“I don’t mind at all.” He reached out and grabbed on of the pots and handed it to her. She placed it into a hole, then covered it, patting the soil around its base with practiced efficiency. He moved over to the tool cupboard and pulled out another trowel then returned, kneeling outside the bed across from her.

“They need to be about 45 centimeters apart,” she explained and picked up one pot, pointing to a spot just below the leaves. “This is the crown. You need to leave it uncovered so the plant can send out runners and make new plants.”

“I think I can do that,” he replied. He removed his jacket, set it off to the side, and rolled up the sleeves of his tunic. His mother used to garden, though not with the same dedication as Trance. As a boy, he would follow along behind her, pulling weeds, and building castles for the insects out of sticks and leaves because it was a pity they had to live in the dirt while Humans and Vedrans lived in bright warm houses.

“What are these?” he asked as he placed a pot into his freshly dug hole. Trance eyed him as he worked, then gave a satisfactory nod when he proved he had been paying attention. She smiled again, warm and true. A smile from within. A little unexpected given everything she had suffered recently. She pulled a fruit from a plant and handed it to him.

“Fragaria × ananassa. Or, as Harper calls it, a strawberry. It’s his favorite fruit. Have one, they’re delicious.” She took one for herself and bit into it, casting the stem into a bag of biodegradable waste that Andromeda would later break down and returned to the garden as fertilizer. He followed suite. It was juicier than he expected, and sweet. Almost candy-like.

“We did a cargo run to Rigel II for a rich client when I had been on the Maru for about three months. We didn’t normally get such, um, _reputable_ commissions,” she said. He raised an eyebrow at the word reputable. “One of Beka’s father’s friends could not do the haul himself and passed it along to her. Out of friendship or pity, we never knew. When we got there, Harper overhead that the client’s parts factory was having severe mechanical issues, slowing production. He volunteered to help because Harper never misses an opportunity to show off his genius. And, the accommodations were, in his words, _swanky_.

“The client put us up in a fancy hotel. The kind where they put mints on your pillow. Harper and I hit the buffet for dinner since it was on our employers tab and Rigel is the number one exporter of Terran produce. He wanted a taste of home. When he saw the strawberries, he was so excited. He gorged himself on them. That night I kept him company through an awful stomach ache and he told me that his birthday was in the spring on Earth and that even though they were hard to find, and expensive, his mother always brought strawberries home to celebrate.” As she finished her story, she took a leaf between her thumb and pointer fingers and rubbed it gently, a faraway look in her eyes.

It occurred to him he had learned more about Harper in the last two months than he had in years of serving with him. He never thought to ask about Harper’s childhood, or his life on Earth, and Harper had never volunteered much. He needed to set more time aside for his engineer.

“So you bought these for him? If you had to export them from Rigel, they must have been expensive.” His words were just something to say as he processed her story, but he was also curious, as she hadn’t purchased any of these plants through official channels.

“They were expensive, but I have quite a bit of money saved up. I never bought much for myself and put most of my salary away. I wasn’t supposed to stay forever. I thought when I left to return to my people I would give my savings to Beka and Harper as they could use it more than me...” She trailed off. Then she forced a smile. “Anyway, don’t tell him. It’s a surprise.”

“It will be our little secret,” he whispered, following along and ignoring the comments about her people. Deep down he had known that was her plan, to return home, yet it still took him by surprise. She would not be returning to her people now. Those savings were important. They would help her create a comfortable life for herself in the organic world when it was time to leave Andromeda. Though she had purchased these as a thoughtful gift for a grieving friend, they were still in hydroponics for anyone onboard to enjoy. After a moment he said, “Expense all of this. I know they are expensive, but I can make a case to the Commonwealth for preserving Earth’s flora in an uncommercialized environment. Most of those in charge are human, and they could do with a reminder of where they came from.”

She blinked and squared her shoulders, giving a sharp nod. Though she was not one for intense displays of emotion, he could see the gratitude in her eyes and could tell she understood what his offer meant, and why it had been made. “Thank you.”

“It’s not a problem.”

They worked together in amicable silence as she planted along one side of the planter, and he the other. Every once in a while she checked in on his progress and surreptitiously corrected his work if she found it wanting. This was soothing. Relaxing. He could see why she spent so much time in her gardens.

“You didn’t come down here to help me plant, or to talk about Harper,” she said after a few minutes had passed. Her eyes remained on her hands as they went about their task. Pointedly so.

“No, you’re right.” He stopped working and looked right at her. She sat back on her heels, back straight, still looking down, but listening. “There is the small matter of you yelling at everyone and disobeying two direct orders yesterday.”

She tapped the trowel, still held in one hand, against her lap, spilling more soil onto her clothing. “I am sorry I yelled at everyone. I should not have done that. When Andromeda spoke to me this morning, I apologized for being so disrespectful.”

The apology for disobeying orders was conspicuous in its absence.

“We have all walked through Andromeda at one point or another, she can be a pain sometimes,” he said with a wink and what he hoped was a good-natured lilt to his voice, attempting to lighten the mood. Let her know she wasn’t in trouble.

“I heard that,” Andromeda said and Trance laughed, some of her guard falling.

“You didn’t say anything about disobeying orders,” he said, taking the direct path. To dance around the subject with Trance was not an effective strategy. She looked at him now, her gaze solid and unwavering, face smooth, giving nothing away.

“I won’t apologize for helping Beka, but I disobeyed orders, and I understand rules exist for a reason. I will accept whatever punishment you deem fair.”

He sighed. He’d been prepared for this. Had wracked his brain most of the morning trying to figure out what to say. When Andromeda reported that Trance was finally working alone and appeared set to stay in one place, he still hadn’t figured it out. He decided to improvise instead. The moment had arrived, and he still did not know what to do, but wanted to get it over with and move on. Soon, there would be an even more uncomfortable conversation. Andromeda was already . For his own selfish reasons, he wanted a break between. Peace. A chance to regroup.

Another deep breath and he said finally, “Trance, there is nothing I can do to punish you. You have been through enough already. Next time, though, tell me how you are feeling and what you need. I can’t make decisions when I don’t have all the information.”

She looked down and to the side. When she looked up again, she gave him a nod. “I will try. Thank you for letting me work today.”

He climbed up to sit on the side of the planter again, his knees objecting to kneeling on the hard ground for so long. His body was not as young as it once was, and he hated to admit it. These last five years had taken their toll. One day life would be simpler. He could hope, at least.

He placed a hand on her shoulder. “It seems to agree with you. Andromeda says you’ve been busy since early this morning and haven’t rested much. How are you feeling?”

“Honestly? A little jittery. I drank coffee this morning to see what would happen. It’s hard to sit still now. But, I kind of like it.”

That explained a lot. He gave her shoulder a squeeze.

“Careful, that’s borrowed energy. You’ll pay for it later,” he said. She climbed out of the planter and dusted off her knees and dress, then walked around to take a seat next to him. She looked up at him.

“I know. I’ve had that exact conversation with both Beka and Harper.” A wry smile. A small shrug. “It’s funny, really. There is so much about this body that is unpleasant and takes getting used to. Digestion, hormones... sweating. But the worst is needing to stop when my mind wants to keep going. I always wondered why none of you ever slept enough, ate properly, or rested when you were sick since I could clearly see that is what you needed to stay health. It baffled me that humans tended to ignore their basic needs on a daily basis.”

“But you get it now?”

“I do. And I think we have switched places in a way,” she said. He wasn’t sure he followed.

“I don’t understand.”

“You are now watching over me, trying to keep me safe and healthy. When I was on the Maru, I had to learn to step back and let Beka and Harper make the mistakes they were going to make, even if I knew they were going to hurt themselves.”

He saw where this was going. The other Dylan Hunt stirred inside. A promise. He remembered a promise made in another lifetime to someone whose face he didn’t recall. A promise to protect and guide a small child. A child who sat before him now, still young, but no longer a child. As if their relationship needed more complicating. He did not bring it up. He needed more time to explore this new layer to their friendship, this new part of himself.

“And now, you must allow me to make my mistakes. If anyone in the past ever survived the transition from avatar to organic, I did not hear about it. There is no one out there with a body like mine. No biology texts for me to consult. But this is the only body I have, and I need to get used to it. To learn where my boundaries are. I cannot do so wrapped in a protective bubble. I am going to overwork myself, get sick, collect bumps and bruises. That is life, and it is unavoidable.”

“You’re right. It is unavoidable, but you don’t have to rush into life either, and you can’t stop me from worrying,” he said. She placed a hand on his knee.

“I know. And I am asking you once again to go against your nature and let go when you want to hold on. But you must. I need the freedom to live my life. To make my own choices. I have come so far already, and if I have made it to this point, surely I can handle the consequences of my own actions.”

Her forthrightness as of late was a welcome change, even if she’d needed a little prodding. He wrapped his arm around her shoulder and squeezed her in a sideways embrace happy she was here to embrace at all. She leaned into it.

“Thank you for telling me how you feel,” he said, “I promise to try as long as you remain open with me. It isn’t going to be easy.”

She smiled up at him, winked, and bumped her shoulder against his arm. “It never is.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If anyone is interested, here is Danny Boy being played on a penny whistle (also called a tin whistle).
> 
> https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=kWKFkD4UHdU


	14. Cosmically Terrifying

“Hey, look who’s back on Command!” Harper exclaimed from his position at their usual shared console the moment she stepped through the door. She stopped just inside and battled the urge to turn around and walk right out as a dozen pairs of eyes turned to look, most belonging to crew members she had not met. Instead, she focused on Harper after tossing Doyle a quick smile, sidling in beside him.

“Good morning,” she said with a smile.

“Fancy meeting you here.” Harper returned her greeting with a lopsided grin and a single raised eyebrow.

“Well, it is Tuesday. Time for weekly diagnostics again.”

He tapped a few commands into the console, relinquishing control of half to her. “And I, for one, am glad that  _ you _ are doing yours this week.”

“You shouldn’t be too glad, Harper. Trance is also here to help you approve requisition forms from the overhaul before we are past the return period for defective parts.” Rommie said as she came into the room, stepping up behind them. “Here Trance, to rest when you need to.” She placed a short stool off to the side, then moved off to another station, relieving a young ensign with dark hair and sleepy eyes.

Harper looked betrayed. She shrugged sympathetically. Can’t be helped. Busy work had to be done. Requisitions must be approved. She was just happy to have work to do, even Harper’s work. But first, she needed to get the first life support systems diagnostic going.

As she tapped in the commands to start, she watched through her peripheral vision as the day shift filtered in and the night shift drifted out, off to breakfast or bed. New faces. She had seen one or two in the halls over the last few weeks, but not interacted with them—not even her small crews of medics and life support and environmental systems specialists. Those meetings would be left for her official return to duty. Right now, she wasn’t CO of anyone. Just the resident mystery woman. Not a role she was unused to, but the sidelong glances bothered her this morning. Made her insides squirm.

It wasn’t just the new faces, people curious about the unusual alien woman on Command who the senior staff greeted as one of their own. It was a sense of missing out, of being out of sync. She had blacked out to a ship with seven people on it and woken to over five hundred. The life of the crew had gone on. The Universe had continued its forward march. These crew members had been onboard for almost two months. They were battle tested and acclimated to the environment. They’d formed relationships with their commanding officers and each other. They ate dinner together in the mess, forming cliques and social circles. They played Lancers vs High Guard soccer games in a converted cargo bay and strolled through her gardens on their free time. And she had missed the transition.

Andromeda was her home, her only home, and it had become something different overnight. It was like starting over. It took courage to start over, she had told Dylan what seemed like a lifetime ago as everything they had worked for began to crumble around them. She was an expert on starting over. It never got any easier.

“You okay?” Harper asked, placing a hand, palm open just below her shoulder blade. Warm. Comforting. She blinked and realized she had been staring unfocused for some time, fingers frozen, staged on the controls awaiting the brain’s command. The gentle pressure grounded her in reality. A tugging at the back of her mind encouraged her to lean into him. More comfort to be found in his arms. She resisted. Too intimate. Especially for Command.

“Yeah, I’m fine. It’s just weird being back. Seems like a lifetime has passed.” She gave him a small wink to try to convince him she was telling the truth. Was she? No way to know. Weeks in, and she still hadn’t figured it out. But, she was surviving. Even thriving, medically. So forward she plodded, each day a new adventure, a new set of challenges to overcome. Today’s menu of obstacles included self-consciousness born from an identity crisis she barely admitted to herself. The crew surrounding her were trying to figure out who and what she was? Well, so was she.

The pressure lifted and Harper returned to his systems diagnostics, leaving a trace of warmth where his hand had been.

“Can someone please explain to me why 0900 feels so damn early?” Beka’s loud grousing carried across the deck, turning heads. Trance looked up as Beka and Dylan slipped in together, moving with purpose, in step with one another. Trance appreciated their friendship and the normalcy represented.

To her relief, the new crew members decided that their first officer’s irreverent entrance was more interesting than Trance. A golden haired woman near the entrance wore a scandalized expression. Guess the Academy hadn’t prepared her for a CO like Beka. To be fair, not much could prepare anyone for Beka. The woman was a force unto herself. One of the things Trance liked most about her.

“I don’t know, Beka. Every day is a good day when my  _ entire  _ crew is together.” He shot Trance a wide smile and Beka followed his gaze.

“Trance!” Beka crossed over to Trance’s station as Dylan stepped to the center of Command and surveyed his domain the way he did every morning. With the entrance of the captains, the newer crew members turned to their attention back to their workstations, all business now.

“Good Morning, Beka. What’s on the schedule today?”

“I apparently have a list of four hundred potential lancers and slip pilots to filter through so I can approve the Commonwealth’s picks for my new crew.” The curl of Beka’s lips said this was the last thing she wanted to do to.

“I am sure there are some wonderful candidates there.” Trance didn’t voice her concerns. That she understood Beka’s reluctance. That there was already more crew onboard Andromeda now than there had been before. That the thought of adding two-thousand souls made her claustrophobic, accustomed as she was to open spaces and secrecy. Dynamics were changing. Must change. Change was the only constant in the Universe, and she had worked hard to foster the Commonwealth’s rebirth. Didn’t make it more comfortable though.

“You’ll have a list soon, too. Yours is held up because Dylan insisted only master gardeners need apply for Hydroponics. He didn’t think you would let anyone else near your plants. The Perseids in charge of interviews are running around with their chins in a bunch. Speaking of lists, Harper your approvals needs to be on my desk by tomorrow evening and you cannot pick your engineering staff based on cup size.”

Trance wrinkled her nose and glanced at Harper through narrowed eyes. A twinge of… something tugged at her heart. Something beyond the usual, “Why do you just throw yourself at every woman when you are smart enough and funny enough to make the right woman happy.” Something that did not need her attention at the moment because it forced her to question what kind of woman she would consider “right” for Harper. As if she had any right to choose.

“Perhaps I should redact all images from Harper’s files,” Rommie joked.

“Yeah, yeah. Ha ha ha.” Harper said, smiling through a feigned put-upon expression. Trance laughed with the others. Latched on to their good moods. Let borrowed happiness fill the empty places inside her heart where darkness now resided full time. Around her friends, she almost felt whole again. Almost.

With the first diagnostic running, she turned her attention to Harper’s requisition reports. Andromeda had done most of the work already, comparing what was ordered to what was received and installed, then matching up function reports where systems were performing below average. They just needed a pair of organic eyes on them to make the final call on returns and replacements, and a senior level officer to sign off on them. Harper, using his own language, sucked at finishing paperwork. His genius was his saving grace. He didn’t have the patience or attention for running a department, but that didn’t matter much when Rommie wouldn’t allow anyone else to care for her.

Trance pulled up the stool and got to work.

Time passed, and she didn’t notice it the way she did when whiling it away alone— seconds ticking by being a strange sensation for someone unused to being trapped in a cycle of minutes, hours, and days. The senior staff kept up a running dialogue, bantering and joking as they worked through the administrative tasks that filled a typical Tuesday on Command, each doing their part to keep the wheels of bureaucracy well oiled, as Dylan liked to say. Occasionally one of the new staff joined in the conversation. Like Ensign Gayle, a tall dark-skinned man who took twenty-fifth place in the Pan Galactic Surfing Championship on Infinity Atol  last year and was looking forward to the Andromeda’s upcoming shore leave on Rindra since the Signing festivities fell during the first Championship trials. Harper quivered beside her with excitement at participating after four years of being landlocked—and, Trance guessed, a little at the chance to show up another crew member.

All the while she worked, engaging her mind in tedium. Far from being exhausting, it helped her focus her thoughts. Busy mind. Busy fingers. No chance to dwell on darker things. The meditation of work.

“Rommie, can you set up returns for line items six, thirty-two, and forty-nine in batch two?” she asked.

“Setting up returns. Shall I request replacements as well?”

She accessed the storage database to check stock on parts. “Looks like Harper has replacements already, but it never hurts to have extras just in case.”

“Return and replacement requests entered.”

“Great. Sign off on batch two, authorization Trance Gemini, Life Support Systems Officer, Three-Beta-Two-Seven-Two.”

“Batch approved.”

“Trance, have I ever told you how much I adore you?” Harper asked. He too had finished a batch a moment before after a bit of good-natured prodding. Something fluttered in her stomach at his words, and it wasn’t hunger, though that was present, too. Best not to ponder on it.

“I think you may have mentioned it once or twice,” she replied, careful to keep her tone level and playful. In the back of her mind a voice, louder than it ought to be, told her to quip back, keep it going. Flirt with Harper the way they used to, years ago. It felt… nice. Nice was a rare jewel these days. No one could blame her for treasuring it.

The man in question stretched and yawned. “I think it might be time for a break.”

He was on to something. A hollowness had formed in her gut and it would continue to grow until supplanted by lightheadedness, nausea, and a turn in her mood for the worse. Grumpiness and self-pity. Strange bedfellows in a phenomenon Harper called being ‘hangry’. Yet, a break meant a loss of momentum and productivity. Contributing to the cause also felt nice.

“Let’s do one more batch each and then take a break.” A compromise. She could feel Dylan’s gaze on her from across the deck, asking if she shouldn’t take her break now. She tossed him a smile she hoped reassured him.

“Sure, why not. This diagnostic has another ten minutes on it anyway.” Harper said, as he checked the readouts on his half of the station. He pulled another batch of requisition up and she followed suite. This batch appeared to be a list of upgrades to Harper’s machine shops and labs. No surprise that after four years—by his count—of being trapped in a low technology environment he was eager to exercise his intellectual muscles.

Guilt squeezed her heart when she thought of Harper’s time alone on Seefra. A snap decision in a moment she never expected to survive. Her hail Mary outside the Worldship. A slim chance to save her friends. But she didn’t have enough time to do it properly. In the end, she had saved Harper’s body, but damaged his soul. Damaged all their souls. But none suffered so much as he did. And he didn’t blame her. She couldn’t figure out why.

“Wanna run down to the Mess after this? I forgot to eat breakfast, and could really use some more coffee.”

Forgot breakfast? More like he woke up at 0845, threw on some pants and whatever shirt hadn’t been picked up by the bots yet, gulped down the coffee from his automatic pot and ran to Command so he wouldn’t get chided for tardiness. Again. Harper’s typical morning routine. The curse of the insomniac.

“Sure. I think I would like some coffee, too.”

Beka snorted from her place at the pilot’s station. “All it took was two days, and you have succumbed to the siren’s call of caffeine like the rest of us. Welcome to the dark side.”

Trance joined in the laughter with the rest of them as she scanned the next line item, able to laugh at herself. After years of wondering what Humans saw in the bitter brew, she finally got it. There were things about being organic that only an organic could understand, so it seemed.

She did a double take, not sure she had processed what she’d read properly. The laughter caught in her throat, replaced by a knot that made it hard to swallow. Her heart plummeted to her stomach, keeping the hollowness company. Blood pounded in her ears, dulling the surrounding sounds.

“Trance? What… Oh crap!” Harper exclaimed. Tones gave a lot away. His was of a man condemned. She scanned the next few line items. Anger flared. Hurt too.

Focus.

She needed to focus.

A glance at Harper showed her wide-eyed fear. Not of bodily harm, but of an inevitable emotional falling out.

“Trance…” He started. She shook her head, silencing him with a look and turned towards Dylan.

“Dylan, I would like to speak to you. Alone.” Her voice didn’t shake. Good.

“Okay. Let’s go to the conference room.” Confusion. Concern. A hint in the way he carried himself that suggested he had an idea of what she wanted to talk about and didn’t want to admit it. All eyes were on her again. Their gazes burned into her back. Especially those of her friends.

She led the way and didn’t look back. Inside, turmoil. Almost alive. Trying to eat its way out of her from the area where her heart should be. The door to the conference room slid open, she stepped inside. Took a seat at the table, staring straight ahead. Dylan sat across from her.

“What do you need to talk about?” he asked.

“Andromeda, please bring up Harper’s requisition approval report, batch three.” She kept her tone neutral, or close to it, though she wanted to scream. Or shout. Or throw a tantrum. None of those would help though they would provide a cathartic release. Beka’s tried-and-true method of beating a punching bag until her fists were bruised might have sufficed if there had been a punching bag available.

Dylan didn’t say anything, letting her dictate this meeting.

“I don’t know as much as Harper about engineering, but I know enough to recognize the equipment used to manufacture and refine voltarium. I understand that we keep a complement of Nova Bombs despite my feelings about them. But this is not for building Nova Bombs. You are having Harper experiment with small arms using voltarium.”

“Yes,” Dylan answered. Straight to the point. Eyes hooded. Lips drawn straight. Wrinkles more pronounced, adding a decade to his face. An expression as grave and serious as the implication of bullets manufactured with a material whose only purpose was to kill stars.

Had she expected him to deny it? To argue when the evidence was in front of them both, easy to confirm? Tension built in her forehead. Her lips parted, but only an exhalation like a huff escaped from between them, the words jumbled together and stuck, unable to break free. Her limbs trembled from the effort of holding back an explosion, an emotional supernova.

“Do you know what voltarium does to an Avatar?” she asked after a few shallow breaths. Her lungs were not functioning, not allowing the deep cleansing breaths she needed.

“I don’t know exactly, no.”

How did he remain so calm talking about creating weapons he did not understand?

“Voltarium is poison. Just being around it disrupts an Avatar’s connection with her celestial body. It feels…” She looked to the bulkheads, trying to find the right words. “It is so painful. As the darkness consumes you, it is like… I can’t even describe it. Like all that is left inside are your worst fears.”

She stopped and cleared her throat. She looked down at the Commonwealth emblem that adorned the glass tabletop, focused on it, because she didn’t think she could look at Dylan right now. The logic centers of her mind made a weak attempt to slow her down, to think about this rationally. Did she not expect military behavior and military solutions from a military leader? Her mother’s voice spoke to her in a refrain she’d heard many times throughout her long childhood.

_ You’re always looking for that perfect possible future, but reality is never perfect. I love your gentleness, your empathy, but we all must do what  _ must  _ be done. The quest for perfection is never without casualties. You must harden yourself or the universe will leave you heartbroken. _

But she was beyond rational thought. Her mother’s words weren’t enough to stop the waves of emotion from breaking over the levies of her control.

She continued, words clipped and precise. “If voltarium infects an Avatar, it destroys her connection to her celestial body irreparably. It cuts an Avatar off from her lifeforce, the energy that fuels her body. Unconsciousness will conserve energy for a time, but it merely prolongs the pain. The Avatar will die a slow and painful death from what amounts to starvation. Not a pleasant way to go.”

She finally looked up at Dylan. The gravity of this pressed on him. She could see that. Appreciate it, even in her anger. When he finally spoke, there was no levity in his words, or his body language.

“As far as I can tell, the only two things that can permanently kill an Avatar is to destroy their body completely so it can’t regenerate, or use voltarium. The Lambent Kith can take different forms, which means they can infiltrate us, and even if we can figure out how to detect them, there isn’t a thing we can do to keep them off the ship. There will soon be 2500 souls on-board and I will be damned if I don’t do everything in my power to protect them.”

Logic. She needed to look at this logically. Like Dylan. He didn’t plan on a war with the stars, just to protect his crew, herself included. Harper. Beka. Rommie and Doyle. Hadn’t she chosen to make the ultimate sacrifice to save them? Allowed her very essence to be taken so her people would leave them alone? But fear blinded her.

“If this knowledge got out, it could destabilize the entire universe. The stars are the very foundation of existence, holding the Universe together, breathing warmth and life into everything. A sun that is cut off suddenly from her Avatar is blinded, deafened, and crippled all at once with no time to prepare. She has no child already bound to her to take her Avatar’s place. We are not interchangeable to our celestial bodies. It is a bonding more intimate than a human can ever understand. We are half each other. If not given time to prepare, a sun may choose to never bond again, or she might simply give up and collapse before her time. Both have devastating results for life in their systems.” She could not keep her voice from cracking. Tears decided to join the party, building in the corners of her eyes, stinging them.

Dylan took a deep breath and cast his gaze to the tabletop. Pondering. Thinking. His face told an entire story in just a few seconds. Each line a map of his emotions. Each twitch a sign of the conflict within.

“When I ordered Harper to research this, we did not know if you would live or die. You said yourself the other day that if anyone has survived the transition, you’ve never heard of it. Presumably, they cut you off from your sun with the expectation that you would not survive. The pain you are concerned with these weapons causing, the effect on your celestial body, the Lambent Kith Nebula did not even blink when they inflicted it on you and the Tarn Vedran sun.”

All she could manage was a whisper. “Humans say that an eye for an eye makes the whole world blind.” More tears. An unstoppable torrent of them. They fell unchecked down her cheeks. She did not move to wipe them.

“I don’t intend to take revenge on your people, Trance. But I will protect us from them.” He stared at her for a moment that stretched on, neither one of them bending to the other. Another conflict in his eyes.

Finally, he said, “This is not how I wanted to tell you about this. Andromeda, pull up the projection you showed me this morning.”

Across the table the image of a star system appeared, floating characters labeling it as the Tagus system. The hologram cast colorful shadows on Dylan’s face, giving him an otherworldly appearance. One sun, seven planets, twelve moons. A Sol-like system with two burnt planets at the front, two beautiful blue balls of glass in the habitable zone, and gas giants, green, blue, and red, one with rings wrapped around it. The comparison to her brother, Trance knew, would rankle the sun, a cantankerous soul. Naeva was her Avatar’s most recent name. One of the Nebula.

“Begin simulation,” Dylan ordered.

Trance watched in horror as the sun began to move, a diagram at the corner of the projection showing time lapsing. In just under a month, the sun consumed the first planet. She could not blink as she focused on the middle two planets. As the sun moved closer, their atmospheres changed, subtle shifts in color at first, but becoming more pronounced as the sun continued its death march. Characters beneath ticked off statistics like surface temperatures, oxygen levels, ability to support life. Her mouth dropped open when the first planet ticked over from habitable to uninhabitable. It took two months.

Naeva’s system was a beautiful one, home to a space faring species known throughout the Triangulum Galaxies for their beautiful architecture and contributions in music and literature. Former members of the Commonwealth who were, last she checked, negotiating re-entrance. Two fully populated worlds. Sixteen orbital habitats in the asteroid field on the outer edge. Four colonized moons.

Unlike humans, the Tagarians had not felt the need to venture far from their system. Almost their entire species existed in that cosmically small space. The entire system would be consumed in five months. Unbelievable. Before today, unthinkable. The Lambent Kith did not hurt one another for the reason the Commonwealth had never used Nova Bombs in battle until the Worldship. Because a war in the cosmos meant mutually assured destruction.

“This is not possible.”

“Yet it is happening. The Tagarians have asked the Commonwealth to hold out on evacuations while they come up with a plan, but they don’t have long. Life will become difficult well before the planets lose their ability to sustain life completely as we saw in Seefra. The Argus Core of Engineers is already working on a way to protect their people from rising radiation levels.”

Why do this? Such a brazen and horrifying act, throwing out both the strictures of secrecy and murder. Strictures imposed because the implications of losing either were too horrifying to contemplate. Her stomach roiled, and she swallowed hard. If the Nebula wanted to destroy the Known Worlds, they only had to continue with the Abyss’ plans. This spoke of deliberateness. Perhaps the first attempts to reshape the Universe to their unknowable wills.

“They have become tyrants,” she said. The projection disappeared, taking away its light.

“I will protect this crew, Trance. We can’t know what your people have planned. I will have Harper make sure the weapons do not cause undue suffering, but if they board this ship and threaten our crew, I want a way to stop them.”

And that squeezed the vice around her heart harder, made it impossible to breathe. Made her head spin and the ship tilt around her. Not because she couldn’t see the logic, or even because she thought he was wrong. Because it was hard for her to think of the people close to her wielding weapons built specifically to threaten and kill her people. But they weren’t her people anymore, were they? And they had made the first move.

She had to go.

“I can’t…” she said, standing up, legs shaking. “You should have told me before now.”

She turned without looking at Dylan again, desperate to leave before she lost all composure. As she swept out of the room, she almost didn’t notice Harper standing there until he reached out and brushed her arm with his hand. She shrugged it off.

“Trance...”

“Harper, no. Don’t. I want to be alone right now,” she snapped, shooting a narrow eyed glare over her shoulder as she sped away as fast as her legs would allow.

This was in no way his fault. He was doing as he was ordered.

But he had not told her.

Also not his fault.

Dylan would have been upset if he had.

Her anger had an unfair source. He had not turned down the chance to puzzle out something new, to create something never created before, though that something was meant for death. She was angry at his drive to be the first, to create for the sake of creating, ignorant of the ramifications—a trait intrinsic to his nature. She was angry because at the moment, she needed to be angry. Because anger was easy.

 

********************

“Harper, is everything all right? You’ve checked the flow of that same circuit four times now.” Andromeda asked, appearing beside him, framed by the organized chaos of his favorite machine shop.

“I’m fine,” he replied, a little too quickly to be believed. She crossed her arms below her chest, tilted her head to the side, and raised an eyebrow.

“If you are fine, can you tell me what you have been doing the last ten minutes?”

“I… uh…” He looked at the scattering of parts in front of him for clues. He had intended to work on a device to detect the message residue, but nothing in front of him, including the circuit board he had purportedly tested four times in a row, made sense for that project. He must have been on autopilot, tinkering with no purpose just to have something to do while tuning out the world.

“I thought so.”

He put his ammeter down beside the offending circuit and moved over to his bed, sinking down, more weary than he thought he should be. Andromeda turned to watch him, eyes calculating. He searched for how to explain his concerns.

“I am worried about Trance,” he said, “I grew up surrounded by people who suffered almost every trauma you can think of. You name it, the Magog and Nietzscheans did it. That kinda stuff leaves scars, and not the visible kind, if you know what I mean.” He knew she did. Rommie had seen Earth first hand, and Andromeda had those memories. Plus, there was no way the benevolent goddess of the ship had not puzzled out his demons by now. “She puts on a pretty good mask, all smiles and words of encouragement, but I know that haunted look when I see it. I’ve seen it thousands of times. And there are other things. Like how she’s slept on the Maru since leaving Med Deck. How she sticks to public places and doesn’t spend much time alone.”

And more that he didn’t tell Andromeda. Small tells. Frowns she didn’t think he saw. Testiness when over the last year she had been the paragon of gentleness. And then her confession, weeks ago, that there were moments she did not want to exist. If he thought for a second she would hurt herself, he would have told someone. But acted on or not, those feelings had a tendency to screw things up. Things like taking care of yourself. And it took a lot longer than a few weeks to banish them. His own dark demons still gnawed on his soul in those rare moments he allowed time for introspection.

“She has been through a lot. So have you.”

“But how do I help her? I can hardly keep my own head above the water. And she doesn’t talk. I mean, compared to when I first met her, she’s a chatty Kathy, but she is still incredibly, annoyingly, reserved. And after today, she might not talk to any of us again.” Harper could not stop seeing the look she had given him as she brushed him off this afternoon. All the trust they had built, that foundation they were laying, crumbling in front of him.

“I have been watching Trance carefully. You are not wrong to be concerned, but the only thing you can do until she chooses to confide her feelings is to be there for her without pressuring her. You are already doing that.” Andromeda said. He twisted half his mouth into a smile. All he could muster. “And she is doing so for you. I think right now she is suffering from shock, and she will come to you again when it wears off. But if you have anymore concerns, or you want to talk, you know where to find me.”

“Thanks Rommie. What did I ever do without you?”

Rommie gave him another raised eyebrow and a smile, saying with the air of someone who often had to remind a grown man to sleep and eat and send bots in to collect his dirty clothes because he never threw them into the laundry chute, “I have no idea.”

He allowed a small, amused chuckle and shook his head, then stood up and started gathering parts in a chrome basket cradled in one arm, this time ensuring they actually pertained to communications. He had just lain them out on the countertop when Dylan’s boots sounded off on the deck plates. He wasn’t looking forward to this conversation. Trance never would have noticed the requisitions had he done his job in the first place. This was the result of another Seamus Harper screw up, and he had never shaken the feeling that Beka or Dylan was going to toss him off their ships, no matter how unrealistic it sounded after all these years. Guess he had never developed a true sense of permanency.

“Hey Boss,” he said. Reluctance weighed down his words. He didn’t look up. Couldn’t stand to see disappointment he knew was painted on Dylan’s face. He had it memorized down to the last detail.

“Mr. Harper, how are you?” Not what he expected. Voice calm with no edge. Each word flowed freely, unpunctuated. He looked up to see Dylan—wrinkles etched deeply into the skin around his eyes, adding more shadows. No anger. No disappointment. This should have reassured him, but it put him off balance.

“I’ve been better. Trance is pissed. Really pissed. I don’t know if you’ve ever pissed her off at this level before, but I would say to expect a major cold front for at least a week. Actually, scratch that, better be prepared for two. Trust me.” Once again, the words just spilled out of his mouth in a torrent, unprompted.

Dylan turned and leaned against the counter so they were sort of facing each other. He sighed heavily. “I am sorry if her anger with me has been misplaced onto you. You two have been spending a lot of time together, and I didn’t intend to damage your friendship.”

More surprises. Dylan apologizing to  _ him _ ? No blame?

“She will get over it, she always does.”

Was he really so sure? Truth was, it had crossed his mind that she might be upset he was building voltarium weapons, but it hadn’t even slowed him down. He’d buried those concerns in the place he sent moral quandaries to die. But they hadn’t died. He had known Trance was going to confront him about it one day and worried that it would destroy the trust they had built up. What if it had? “If I had done my work in the first place, she never would have seen those requisitions.”

“I allowed her to help you and I should have been the one to tell her before she had a chance to find out another way. I never intended to keep it a secret from her. You are following orders,” he said.

Harper turned back to the basket of parts. Took each one out one by one. Placed it on the counter before him in no particular order. Mindless work, just like what Andromeda had caught him at moments before.

An awkward silence filled the room.

Theirs was an awkward friendship, always had been. Neither one able to imagine where the other had grown roots, the type of life they had lived.

“We found Jace’s home,” Dylan said after a moment.

“Oh?” All he could think to say. He hadn’t pondered the origins of the boy Beka rescued much. Figured they matched his. Different home world, same bullshit. The Dragons had an MO. A simple recipe:

  1. Take over a system, destabilize the economy, allow just enough education to produce a useful workforce.  
  2. Violently suppress all signs of culture.
  3. Add a pinch of suspicion with collaborators and snitches so no one trusts enough to band together.
  4. Stir vigorously and harvest ready made slaves as needed.



“He is from the Kepler system. New Burke.”

That caught Harper’s attention. His head snapped up, parts forgotten. The Kepler system was one of the first colonized by humans, a bustling center for commerce in the age of the Commonwealth. And, like Earth, one of the first targets of the Nietzscheans after the fall.

“You’re going to send him back to that hell hole? Should have just left him where he was. Give it a couple months, he’ll be dead, in the mines, or back on another Dragon ship.” Not a pretty picture, but an accurate one. Parents on Earth used the Kepler system to warn children how much worse it could get. A bogey monster. Eat your hard earned fresh peas or the Dragon’s might send you to the Kepler mines.

“Rommie gathered some intel. He has family there. An aunt and uncle still surviving, and two cousins. But no, we aren’t going to leave him there. Beka has decided to bring Garuda Class fighters from Rhade’s pride as escort and demand safe passage on and off the planet with Jace’s family. We can take them anywhere they want to go, but if they have nowhere else, there is a place for them on Tarn Vedra.” Dylan explained.

“They are never going to trust her.” Harper said immediately. A Spacer dressed in nice clothes, allowed to walk free. She’d be lucky if someone didn’t lob a Molotov cocktail at her, shouting about collaborators, much less follow her back to her ship.

“No, they won’t. They have no reason to trust Beka.” Emphasis on Beka. The second part of his comment remained unspoken, but no less clear. Andromeda had a resident expert on Drago Kasov slave planets. Someone who spoke Jace’s family’s language.

“You want me to go down with Beka and convince them to come with us?”

“And Doyle. If you are willing. I know it is a lot to ask of you, and I would feel better if you stayed here, but it means a lot to Beka.”

“I’ll do it,” his mouth replied before his mind had time to catch up.

 

********************

He was in Neverland again—the name the Paradine inside had given Trance’s secret world. Only it had changed. Grown up around him. Aged with wild grace. The woods, once quiet of the sounds of life, now buzzed, chirped, and chattered in a non-stop symphony. The Paradine Dylan had been back here often. More often than he should have been. But they had drawn him into their world, those children who were not children. He lived a second life, as only a Paradine could, watching them grow into the adults they were meant to be—scheming and planning with their mother and the other Paradine to make sure they reached their destinies unharmed. Small children, still. Immortal and old, yes. But so innocent and playful. Pawns in a giant game of save the Universe because the Universe needed saving. It kept the Paradine Dylan awake at night, the unfairness of asking children to give their lives to their parent’s causes.

Today, he stood at the edge of the wood along a clearing of green and yellow grasses with great boulders smattered throughout, moss and lichen clinging to their weathered sides. It was maybe half a soccer field long, and teeming with colorful, pointy-tailed children, shouting and laughing their joy into the crystal blue sky as they fought a war with wooden sticks. A cool breeze, alive with the sounds of branches clacking together, brushed against his skin carrying a hint of peat moss and evergreen along with it, as well as the crispness approaching autumn.

On a boulder, some distance away from the other children, a purple child sat alone, back towards him. He made his way over.

“What are you dreaming about today?” he asked as he sat down beside her on the boulder's wide surface. At first it seemed she didn’t hear, her eyes fixed in the direction of the other children, but not focused on them. A few seconds passed. A triumphant shout carried over the killing fields. Sol, as he would be known one day, the victor of a successful charge. She turned to him, a hint of cloudiness lingering in her expression. As if a part of her remained in another place and time.

“The future,” she said vaguely. A miniature conflict passed over the contours of her young face. She tapped her bare feet on the boulder and twisted a reed he’d just noticed around her fingers. Her features assembled into the most serious look the face of an eight-year-old could muster. An entirely too adult expression. He had grown used to these incongruities in the course of his visits. “Does it tire you? To be out of your time?”

He sighed a deep heaving sigh. Captain Dylan Hunt was still new to these memories, this traveling to another time and living another life. The Paradine inside, a seasoned professional. Tired. An inadequate word for the phenomenon that weighed down his limbs each morning and wrapped him in its tight embrace in moments of rest.

“It does. Why do you ask? Does it tire you to travel through probability waves into the future?” He’d made an assumption and was rewarded with a nod.

“It makes me shaky.”

“If it is so exhausting, why do you sit over here dreaming of the future instead of playing with your brother and your friends?”

She shook her head. A pair of earrings made of shell dangled from her ears, swishing with the motion.  “I am trying to find the perfect one. The one where everything ends up okay, where people are happy,” she said, then nodded towards the children. “And, they aren’t my friends. They are my brother’s. No one wants to be my friend. Not really.”

A small blue boy waved across the field at them, a little green girl giggling beside him. Dylan knew them as Ione and Vera, Tarn Vedra and her moon, though they hadn’t taken those names yet.

“Pretty sure those two are your friends,” he said, trying to offer comfort, to coax out her innocent nature, the smiles and giggles that normally came easily.

A smile did appear, but only on the surface. Only half of one. “They don’t count. We are bonded. They have to like me. Everyone  _ has _ to like me. I am the princess. It is different from having friends.”

Another shout. Sol went down with an overdramatic display of side clutching and last words, another purple boy waving the stick-sword destined to vanquish such a fearless leader above him in triumph, red leaves still dangling off it. His teammates danced their victory dance as Sol laughed on the ground.

“Why swords?” Dylan asked, an attempt to change to a happier subject. The Lambent Kith were technologically advanced like the Vedrans and a few other early species. Blasters of varying types were far more common than swords.

“Easier to make from sticks than blasters. More fun. For them. They can hit each other.” She wrinkled her nose at the group as a whole. Sol’s teammates helped him up and dusted him off, then huddled together in conference, preparing for war game number two. Ione beckoned for Trance to come and join them. She waved him off again and the poor boy’s shoulders fell. Trance’s lips turned down as she watched him join Vera. Despite her earlier words, they shared more than a small connection, a true fondness for one another. Dylan had watched them play together during previous visits. Necessity did not dictate those feelings on either side.

“You disapprove?”

“I don’t like playing at war. I like to think of pretty things.”

She was meant to be a warrior, this child searching the future for pretty things and happy endings, frowning at the pretend battles of other children. And Captain Hunt knew the pain the life she was destined for would bring her. It broke his heart. How he wished she could stay here in Neverland, become one of the Lost Boys and never grow up.

“Sometimes, war and death are necessary,” Paradine Dylan said. Captain Hunt fought this memory and felt a shift, felt himself becoming a part of the memory instead just an observer. The fractured parts of himself melding into one piece.

The wisdom of a billion years of existence settled on Trance like a mantle. She locked eyes with him. For a moment he saw a flash of her radiant body in them.

“I know. I see it in my dreaming. I can’t find the perfect possible future. There is always so much fighting, so many wars. So much darkness and so much loneliness. I am always alone.”

These words did not belong on the tongue of a child, no matter her true age. Captain Hunt reached out to her and wrapped an arm around her tiny shoulders, for the first time in possession of his body, as if he were now in this time as well. She curled up against his side, resting her head on his chest. He held her tighter, an instinct to offer comfort taking over. He wondered what his life would have been like if the Commonwealth hadn’t been betrayed if he had married Sara. Would they have a daughter? Would she be as small as Trance? As gentle and kind? Would she, too, have such serious eyes?

“You will have friends one day,” he said, kissing her hair, flowers tickling his nose. “Good friends who love you, who would do anything for you, not because of your title or your place in this Universe, but because of who you are.”

“Did you see this in that other time you live in?” she asked, hopeful. The Paradine inside had taken a backseat, leaving him in charge. He didn’t know the rules and there was no one alive to tell him. But he did know she did not remember him in her future, and he did not remember her. So what harm could he do?

“Yes, I did.”

She snuggled in closer and asked in a small voice, “Are you my friend in the future?”

He gave her head another kiss. “I will always be your friend.”


	15. Night Terrors

Beka’s ship was dark when he boarded, knapsack packed with the accouterments of home, many of which he had no intention of taking back to Andromeda because they belonged on the Maru. After three years away, living a life that resembled his upbringing with slightly more amenities and fewer attacks, he had expected to have to adjust to life back in space, but it was Seefra that was becoming a memory. His mind and muscles fell back into the routines of life on Andromeda as if he had been trapped in a long nightmare and woken up to shake it off, to return to business as usual.

Of course, it wasn’t business as usual, he was reminded as he rounded the corner to see Trance already asleep on her bunk. He had expected her to be here, a deciding factor in preparing for tomorrow’s trip tonight, but hoped to find her awake. For a brief moment forgetting she slept more than a few hours a night now.

Perhaps it was too soon to try his luck. Her cold shoulder tended to be pretty icy. He’d been frozen out enough in the past. But he didn’t want to go down to New Burke without making the attempt, the threat to life and limb being what it was.

He slid his boots off in the galley and slipped into the berth with socks only, setting his boots down without a sound beside the ladder for quick access. He had lived in a number of different places in Boston’s human ghetto, and all had been multi-family, multi-vermin accommodations, with no choice in either housemate. He learned as a child to move silently at night or risk the wrath of sleep deprived adults with no love for unrelated burdens—a skill he employed now for far better reasons.

At the bottom of the ladder he paused and watched Trance stir in her sleep, brow knitted tightly, jaw clenched. This was not the first time judging by the blankets tangled around her legs and pillow balanced precariously on the edge of the mattress. She stilled again, falling back into a deeper sleep, and he climbed up silent as a ghost.

He turned on his light and began to unpack, making small, slight movements, stowing his clothing away in a haphazard fashion that would leave them wrinkled by morning. A few novels and schematics next. On his headboard he pinned a copy of the only picture he owned of his parents, another of his cousins, and a portrait of Earth. Finally, he pulled out his penny whistle and placed it at the head of his bed in a place of honor. A reminder of why this was worth it.

A yawn stretched his jaw until it popped. The chronometer on the wall only read 2212. A bit early for bed, but he was tapped dry at an emotional level after today. First, he’d discovered that the Nebula had not quit their planet destroying habit, sights set on an entire populated system this time. Then, he spent hours holed up in a conference room with Beka and Doyle planning a trip right into the stuff his nightmares. Strategies. Contingency plans. Contingency plans for when the contingency plans imploded. Supply lists. Politics. More politics for good measure. All while skirting the fact they were rescuing a single family out of hundreds of thousands. The drop in the bucket plan, he called it.

By the time the meeting was over he chose to immerse himself in the puzzle of finding his people and worked on a promising prototype until only room for calculations and mechanical things remained in his brain, because he could not handle anything _more_ . Problem was, the Universe wanted to keep piling _more_ on, and his machine shop was not an effective hiding spot from the Universe.

Perhaps he should rest. If he slept now, he might be able to catch Trance in the morning before Beka kicked her off the Maru. Rhade’s small fleet of Nietzschean battleships was due early and Beka wanted to be on their way by ten-hundred. Trance slept more than any of them, so even with her head start, chances were good he’d be awake before her. Maybe if he had coffee and breakfast ready she would be more willing to talk? Couldn’t hurt. She was, after all, the one always going on about hope and good intentions.

He climbed down with a pair of sweatpants and a tank top in hand. Shirt and pants on in communal housing. No boxers. Beka’s rule. It hadn’t been an issue before Trance. Trance’s hiring had come with lots of new rules. Stop dropping your things on her mattress, it is occupied now. Keep them in your bunk, that’s what the storage pockets are for. Contain posters of swimsuit clad women up there too. Watch your mouth. Wear clothes. Come home sober enough to be polite. Stop hitting on Trance. Do not encourage her to pickpocket clients.

Oh how 22-year-old Harper had grumbled about all the changes having a girl onboard meant. More than once he’d wished Beka would drop her back off on the Drift they’d picked her up on.

22-year-old Harper knew nothing.

He changed into his night clothes, washed his face, and was most of the way through a cup of an herbal tea blend, a compromise on the sleeping medication issue, when he noticed Trance moving around again, feet kicking furiously at her blankets. She shot up with a loud gasp. He abandoned his mug on the table and rushed over.

She stared straight ahead unseeing, fists clenched so tight he saw her nails digging into her palms. Her breaths were quick and shallow, not deep enough to help calm her. Most nights, she came to him in the aftermath of her nightmares and he had never seen her wake from one, but he doubted this was common. His conversation with Andromeda yesterday came to mind. He’d seen this growing up as well, almost every night.

“Trance?” She was too far inside her mind, but he tried to reach her anyway. He reached out, hesitated, braced himself, and touched her shoulder. Even the most gentle of souls might react violently in this state if they felt threatened, and Trance’s reflexes were still extraordinary. Even in her weakened state she might do some damage. She didn’t respond, frozen in her fear. Awake, but trapped. A panic attack. The silent sort, but no less horrible for the one suffering it.

There was no manual for handling an attack like this. Every person needed something different. Only one hard and fast rule existed in his experience—make her feel safe. Whatever it was she saw in her mind’s eye, it was not the Maru’s familiar walls. He climbed over her legs and onto the bed beside her, facing her, his hip pressing against her upper thigh. Touch, in theory, would help ground her.

He grabbed her hands and pried her fingers open, worried about her drawing blood. Four crescent moons showed on each palm, pressed deeply into the skin, short of breaking it. She had not noticed the pain. Slender fingers closed vice-like around his. He squeezed back, returning the input, his touch showing her someone was there, someone was responding.

“You’re on the Maru. It’s all right. You’re safe,” he said. And repeated it twice more, waiting a few breaths between. Holding on. Keeping his eyes on hers. They were unfocused, pupils dilated so that only a tiny ring of brown remained.

“Try to focus on me. You’ve gotta breathe. In and out, nice and slow. Come on. In and out.” He channeled his mother here, remembering how she comforted him, his cousins, and even strangers through their night terrors. An indomitable woman. Had to be to raise a child on Earth.

Breathe in to the count of three, breathe out to the count of five.

As he modeled it for her, it calmed his racing heart. 

“You're safe. I’m here,” he said.

After a few minutes, her breathing slowed and her eyes came into focus, at first looking everywhere but at him, as if searching for threats hiding under the bed and in the shadows, something to warrant her terror. When nothing presented itself, she looked down to their hands and up to his eyes.

“Harper?”

“You back now?” He let go of her hands and shifted until he was sitting beside her. He pulled her into his arms, going on instinct, uncertain of how she would react. She curled into him, pulling her legs up to her chest and pressing her cheek to his heart. He let his chin fall to her head, resting it there, and squeezed her gently. Soft curls brushed against his skin, and he wanted to kiss her hair, but held back. They were already in uncharted territory.

“I woke up from a nightmare about my brother earlier,” she said, voice muffled by his chest, “and I thought I was all right… I went back to sleep, but when I woke up just now, I… I don’t know. I couldn’t shake the feeling that he was in trouble, and I couldn’t stop it. I couldn’t stop seeing him in trouble. But he is fine. I would know if he were hurt. I know I would.”

The last bit came out almost a question, as if she already knew it she was giving in to wishful thinking, inventing a lie to make herself feel better. Her breathing shifted back into the shallow pattern from before. He couldn’t let her fall back into her fears.

“Come on. Keep breathing. Our dreams are just us trying to process everything that is going on around us, right? Dylan filled us in today about the Tagus system. It scares the hell out of me, so I’ve got to imagine it’s scary for you,” he said, and felt her nod beneath his chin. Felt her shoulders begin to rise and fall more steadily as she focused on her breathing. He still held her close, exerting gentle pressure. “Between the Tagus system and… other things, your brain is probably working overtime, putting a face to your fears. Brains are dumb like that. Your brother is most likely fine, probably living it up, or whatever your people do in their free time.”

“You are probably right.” His ears strained to hear her. A sob broke through her weakened defenses. Warm tears soaked through the fabric of his tank. She tensed up after the first sob, probably fighting a battle to bottle up her emotions the way she always did—push them back into a too small space and cork the volatile brew off where it could continue to ferment and pressurize. He couldn’t blame her. He wasn’t exactly the best at sharing either.

“It’s okay to cry, you gotta stop holding everything inside or this is going to keep happening. We want to help,” he said after a few beats and a few deep breaths of his own. Still modeling for her, of course. Not for himself. Not like he was a pot calling a kettle black. A hot mess trying to clean up another.

She coughed out another sob. Let a bit out. That was all it took. Her defenses fell, and she cried heart-wrenching sobs that hit him deep in inside. Filled him with a murderous rage that compelled him to seek out every last member of the Lambent Kith and show them what happened to those who hurt his friends.

_Yeah, because taking on the cosmos is a great plan, Seamus. That’s gonna go well for you._

She pulled back after a few minutes. He loosened his arms to let her and she met his eyes with an intense and watery gaze.

“How do you get over this? The weight of everything I have lost is crushing me and I live with this constant fear that what I have left can be taken away in a moment, and there is nothing I can do about it. I see nothing but danger and death in my dreams, and I feel so powerless.”

He wished he didn’t understand so well. More than that, he wished he had an answer.

“Trance, we’re not going anywhere. Okay? Andromeda isn’t going to disappear.” He repeated the same to himself almost every night as he lay in bed trying to calm his own anxieties. Saying it now, he almost believed it.

“You can’t promise that,” she said. The shadows in the bunk gave her cheeks a hollow appearance and darkened the circles around her eyes. He pulled her close again, and she buried her face in his chest as another round of sobs began. He was amazed this woman who hid from her friends when she was upset, who allowed only reserved silent tears to fall if she wasn’t alone, was letting him comfort her, to see her so vulnerable. And he wasn’t sure what that meant.

“No, I can’t. But we can’t live every single day thinking the world is gonna end, either. That’s not living. I figured that one out when those bouncing baby Magog tried to eat their way out of my stomach. And you are a lot stronger than you think you are right now.”

She pulled back to look at him again once the sobs calmed, gaze searching his face for something. He wriggled under her scrutiny.

“You have changed so much, Seamus,” she said softly.

“I’ll take that as a compliment.” He moved his body so his back was supported by the bulkheads. Without saying a word, she shifted with him.

“You’ve grown up. Gotten wiser.”

He thought that was a bit of a stretch, and it brought an unexpected smile to his face.

“Rev told me years ago he saw a glimmer of wisdom. Perhaps it has taken this long to show.” He let the words sit there for a minute, remembering his old friend. He had been terrified of Rev when Beka first introduced him. It amazed him how much his universe had expanded in the last decade, all because one woman decided to take a risk on a smart mouthed and overly cocky street kid from Earth. “I miss Rev. He would know what do right now, exactly what to say.”

She laid her head on his shoulder and he automatically tightened his hold on her, laying his head on top of hers. “I do too. We could really use him right now.”

“He taught me to give my pain away. I don’t think I believe in the Divine, but figured it didn’t hurt to give it my pain. You know?” he said, rambling a little. “My pain belongs to the Divine. It is like air. It is like water.”

She nodded and with her voice slightly above a whisper repeated, “My pain belongs to the Divine. It is like air. It is like water.” After a few moments she added, “There is nowhere that light cannot be born.”

Silence fell between them, and for once he didn’t find the need to fill it. A fuzziness formed around his thoughts. The warmth of her body filled him, her floral scent surrounded him, and when he closed his heavy lids, he almost imagined himself laying on a bench in the gardens of the All Systems University on Cinti as the sun soaked into his skin. In his imagination she had become the embodiment of a spring day. He didn’t want to let her go.

“Trance?” he asked, pulling himself out of his half-asleep state when he realized she’d been still and quiet for some time. She didn’t respond, so he listened to her breathing. Even. Calm. Asleep. He allowed half smile. Guess he didn’t have to let her go.

With his free arm he grabbed one of her pillows and placed it on his lap. As gently as possible he helped her lay down. She stirred, mumbling something unintelligible, before settling to sleep once more. He closed his eyes to dream of spring days again.

 

*******************

 

The Eureka Maru had feelings, and Beka could read them almost as well as her own. As she stepped onto her ship, back and head aching from one meeting after another today, she sensed she was not alone. The walls were still their dusky metal, the air still smelled of dust and oil with a hint of earthiness, but an energy buzzed around her, something akin to an electrical hum. The children were home for the night.

Boots sounded off on the deck behind her and she put up a hand to stop their owner. She looked over her shoulder. Rhade stood straight and alert, a single eyebrow raised in question. She tapped her pointer finger to her lip to indicate he should proceed quietly.

“I think the kids are home. Trance is probably asleep,” she whispered, gesturing with her chin towards the command module. His eyebrow gave an amused twitch at the word ‘kids’, probably considering Trance’s true age, but he didn’t argue and followed along behind, footsteps softer now. At the galley, Beka glanced into the berth to check in on Trance and pulled a full stop, head jerking around to take a better look, pretty sure her eyes could not get any wider. She sensed more than saw Rhade reach for his weapon, jumping to the conclusion there was a threat. She touched his arm without turning around and nodded towards the berth where Harper and Trance both slept on Trance’s bunk. Harper with his back pressed against the wall, and Trance cradled in his lap, almost protectively.

She exchanged a look with Rhade whose brow wrinkled in confusion. She motioned towards the front of the ship again, not wanting to wake the slumbering pair, preferring to leave awkward conversations for the light of day when she was a little less exhausted.

“Well, that was unexpected,” she said as soon as the doors slid shut behind her. She climbed into her pilot’s chair. He took position beside her, standing straight, legs shoulder width apart, hands clasped behind his back. Time on Tarazed had brought back his military discipline, and a great deal of his confidence. Or perhaps it was spending time with his family. He looked Nietzschean good in his black slacks and tight-fitting grey sweater, Commonwealth pin once again displayed proudly on his chest. His face was clean shaven save for his goatee, hair cut and combed to perfection, the kind of natural perfection she resented in him sometimes. The lateness of the hour, and the long trip to reach Andromeda did not show on him, though he must be tired.

“Are they?” he asked, trailing off.

Beka shrugged. “Last I heard, they weren’t even talking to each other.”

He looked about ready to question her and she shook her head. “It is a long story, and I don’t want to get into it right now. It isn’t actually Harper’s fault. I’ll tell you about it tomorrow. I wasn’t expecting you until early in the morning.”

“I came ahead of the ships in a Slipfighter. I wanted to talk to you.”

She wished he would relax a little. Stop standing at attention, at least. Their relationship took a strange turn when they discovered her heritage, and it had never gotten less awkward. “Well, you have my attention. You’re lucky I didn’t go to bed early.”

He nodded, “I am indeed. I wanted to know what you thought about me returning to the Andromeda? 

He wanted her opinion? That was new. And how did she feel about Rhade returning to Andromeda? The last few months in Seefra he hadn’t been able to figure out whether he wanted to throw her out an airlock or wrap her up in bubble wrap and not let her out of his site. Of course, she _had_ gone a little mad with power… Just a little. She had missed him these last few weeks, though.

“I thought you didn’t want to leave your family again?”

He shifted on the balls of his feet, expression inscrutable. She leaned forward, elbow on the armrest, resting her chin on her fist, watching him.

“I have been growing restless at home. It was my wife’s idea for me to return. Your run in with the Drago Kasov concerned me greatly.”

And there it was. He wanted to return for some macho Nietzschean need to protect her. It rankled. Her back straightened and she crossed her arms over her chest. She could not keep the edge from her voice. “I don’t want a body guard, Rhade. It is my life and I will risk it as I see fit.”

His chin dipped forward. A small sign of acquiescence.

“What about a diplomatic partner? I have been given permission to work with you on behalf of my pride and the other seven prides of Terazed as their spokesperson. To aid you in gathering the allegiance of the rest of the prides.”

How strange it was to hear those words, to think of having an entire race pledging their allegiance to her. She and her brother had played “King and Queen of the Universe” as children, pretending to have millions of adoring subjects to command. An escapist fantasy for kids who didn’t always know where their next meal was coming from.

Frankly, it looked better in the brochure.

Still, this was her reality now. Nothing was going to change that. She could walk away from the responsibility, choose to ignore her DNA, but others wouldn’t. Beka had her doubts about Rhade’s ability to control his annoying protective streak, but she needed an ally on this journey. Dylan had been a huge help so far, rising to the occasion in his larger than life way. But he was an outsider. She needed a Nietzschean.

“Well, Rhade, if Dylan is willing to take you back, I say welcome aboard. God knows I am not the only one who’s missed your ugly mug.”

 

*******************

 

Trance woke to an empty bed and found herself confused as to why she thought someone else should be sharing it with her. Then, a hazy memory formed of waking from a second nightmare with her head and shoulders cradled in Harper’s lap, his fingers tangled in her hair, brushing the skin on her arms, deep almost snores mingling with the Maru’s life breath. Of him stirring at her movement, and her scooting over, pulling her pillow along, to make room, mumbling something in that half asleep way about laying down and backaches. A half-hearted sound of protest from him cut off with a sleepy touch from her, and the whisper of a body shifting on a foam mattress yielding to a sense of warmth beside her. She had burrowed into that warmth, seeking comfort. Seeking connection. An arm had wrapped itself around her, pulled her tight, hand finding hers where she held it beneath her collar bone. Their fingers intertwined. Another head joined hers on the pillow.

And, in a fuzzy dream-like moment, something shifted in their relationship, because she could not deny what it meant to feel so at home in another’s arms, or what it meant for another to hold her the way he had in the early morning hours.

They were fast approaching a point of no return, a line in the sand. Perhaps they had already crossed it. A few years ago they had taken few tentative steps down this path. She had turned on heel and walked with purpose the opposite direction as soon as she realized what was happening. She wasn’t entirely convinced she shouldn’t do the same right now. Her brain conjured up dozens of reasons why it was a bad idea to pursue a relationship with Harper. All of them boiled down to a single fear. The fear of losing him and his friendship, as dear to her right now as oxygen.

She sat up and looked around. Beat up walls. Neatly made bunks. No physical signs of the fear that lingered inside, wrapped like a string around her heart. Nothing to show that last night’s events weren’t an elaborate dream conjured up by her subconscious.

“Oh good, you’re awake. I was going to get you up in a few minutes. I need you off the Maru in two hours.” Beka said appearing in the doorway, wielding her captain’s voice already. “If you’re looking for Harper, he needed a few things off Andromeda. He’ll be back in a few.” Black tank top showing off muscular arms, black leather pants, gun holster already attached. Likely two cups of coffee deep by now. Already on her mission though it took Trance a moment to remember Doyle telling her about the mission yesterday. Trance just stared at Beka, still trying to process last night, her brain not ready for launch.

Wrinkles formed above Beka’s nose, her eyes narrowed, business facade falling away. She crossed into the berth and placed a cool hand on Trance’s forehead. “Are you all right? You don’t seem like your normal chipper self.”

Trance formed a weak smile. It took a lot more effort than it should have because when she blinked she saw the flash of Sol’s sun exploding as she had in her nightmares last night. It could have been any sun going supernova, but she had known, without a doubt, it was him.

_Your dreams are just dreams now. They aren’t real._

Had Sol’s sun actually gone supernova, they would have detected it by now. Dylan would have woken her. Told her. She would _know_ if he were gone.

“I am not sick, Beka.”

Beka withdrew her hand and crossed her arms beneath her chest, studying Trance with pursed lips. “Are you sure? Maybe you should go to Med Deck and have Rommie check you out. You aren’t looking so good.”

“I am fine, I just didn’t sleep well last night.”

Beka raised and lowered her eyebrows, a smirk pulled at her lips, amusement momentarily overriding concern. When she spoke, there was a hint of teasing in her voice. “I don’t know. You looked pretty cozy this morning. Harper certainly looked a lot more comfortable than he did last night.”

Heat rose in her cheeks, spreading beyond them until she was certain her entire face was bright red. Beka had seen them. Of course she had. She extracted herself from her blankets and pushed through a thick wall of weariness to stand, then collected her bedding, rolled it into a ball, and discarded it at her feet, avoiding Beka’s eyes. She could feel Beka watching her.

“We didn’t mean to fall asleep. I had a bad nightmare, and he was there when I woke.” She shrugged. “I guess we were both really tired. I don’t remember much.” Not the entire truth, but a harmless white lie to deflect attention and give her time to parse her emotions—figure out what to do with them.

She turned to the storage box beside her bunk and pulled out fresh bedding. Crisp,  clean sparkling black sheets and blankets. While it was technically her bunk, and she was attached to it, no one on the Maru had the luxury of selfishness. The trip to New Burke would take an entire day and night, and Jace’s family needed a comfortable place to sleep on the return if everything went well.

_When_ everything went well.

Beka moved beside her, taking one end of the sheet to help. Trance looked up. The grin had fallen off of Beka’s face, replaced once more with lines of concern.

“Do you want to talk about it?”

Trance was not sure she wanted to delve into her fears, to explore them in the light of day. Yet, they clung to her, not dissipating. Anxiety was pushing her to try contacting Sol. But, if he were safe, the most probable conclusion, contacting him _would_ put him in danger.

“Maybe,” she said as she tucked the sheet into the mattress. She picked up the pillow and slipped a new cover over it. With Beka’s help she threw the blanket on and tucked it in. Stooping down, she grabbed up the bedding she’d dropped and moved it to the laundry chute “It is probably nothing. I dreamed that he went supernova and I can’t shake the image. It has me off balance.”

She stepped into the galley, Beka following behind. Two cups already littered the tabletop. One empty, the other steaming. A bowl of cereal sat abandoned next to the empty cup, a few straggling flakes clinging to the side, muddied milk puddled in the bottom. The remnants of Harper’s breakfast. Beka picked up her cup.

“I know all about worrying over brothers. Rafe’s always in trouble and I have no idea where is he right now. Is your brother the type to get into trouble?” she asked, taking a sip of her coffee afterwards.

Trance’s stomach grumbled, and she opened the larder, overflowing with a variety of foods and ready meals. There were times in the early days when she had opened the larder to find it bare and had to figure out a way to turn down food without raising suspicions so that those who needed it could eat. Harper had been annoyingly persistent in trying to give her some of his portion. Said he was used to being hungry. Though frustrating, it had been her first glimpse behind the selfish facade he wore. A look into the gentle heart he protected so fiercely.

No matter what they had been through, she believed her friends were safer and better off on Andromeda than they would have been if they’d never rescued Dylan from the event horizon. There were many past actions she harbored guilt over, especially when it came to Harper, but her part in convincing Beka to join with Dylan’s cause was not one of them. She wished she could be as assured of her brother’s safety.

“No, not really. He is cautious. A natural born leader. But, I don’t know.” She grabbed the open box of cereal and a box of synthetic milk and set them on the table. Out of another cupboard, she pulled a metal bowl, grabbed a spoon, and poured herself a portion of cereal flakes mixed with tiny bits of dried fruits and nuts. She sighed and stared at her breakfast, frowning at it, as if reading her brother’s flaws in the swirling of the milk, like a drift fortune teller with her tea leaves. “He is also idealistic, and unused to keeping quiet. He grew up in my shadow, and a sun casts a very large shadow. So, while I tried to hide from the spotlight, he always walked right into it. He has been critical of the Nebula since before I joined the council.”

Might as well eat. Starving herself was not going to help her emotional state. She took a bite and found it wanting. Another bite followed. Eating was no longer optional.

“Sounds like what your people need. A leader critical of the Nebula.”

She shook her head, heart suddenly thumping in her chest. Beka’s words made clear the source of her fears. Perhaps even the source of her dreams. A tiny spark of a thought thrown from the fire as she’d watched Andromeda’s projections in the Tagus system. A fear that Naeva might be making a political statement. It must have taken hold inside her mind, smouldering there, reminding her than Sol had never known his place. He had never needed to.

_You aren’t alone in opposing the Nebula_ he had said to her before she woke from her coma. If he’d been there at all.

“No Beka. They will kill him. He won’t be afforded the mercy I was.” It was hard to keep the sarcasm from her voice at the word mercy.

“Some mercy,” Beka muttered, mirroring her sentiments. “Trance, I didn’t mean to imply that your brother should put himself in danger.”

Trance forced herself to chew and swallow another few bites as Beka sipped at her coffee. As hungry as she was, it was difficult to eat, which seemed ridiculous. How could one be hungry and not hungry at the same time?

“It’s okay, Beka. I understand what you mean. I would just feel a lot better if I knew he was safe and staying out of trouble.” Her eyes fell on Harper’s empty mug. Another worry there. More pressing than her worries about Sol. She looked up at Beka who had followed her gaze. “Beka, do you think it is wise to take Harper on this mission?”

“I need him. Jace’s family won’t trust me.” Beka did not answer her question, and that was all the answer Trance needed.

“This is going to be hard on him. Don’t you remember when he came back from Earth three years ago?”

Harper had come back from his failed attempt to liberate Earth sullen and angry, snapping and picking fights, especially with Tyr, the only Nietzschean onboard. In the end, Beka had to set him straight before Tyr’s remarkable well of restraint ran dry.

“Trust me, I’ve already considered it. I care about Harper as much as you do. Dylan didn’t want to ask him either, but he is the only one on the entire ship who can help,” she explained. “The people on slave planets aren’t very trusting of outsiders. And, Harper had a lot more going on back then.” Beka was referring to the larvae threatening to eat their way out of Harper’s stomach at the time, but Trance didn’t think the stress of the larvae played as much of a role as his cousin Brendan’s death.

This time, he had lost the entire planet and all the people on it. Beka was a Spacer. She had never called a planet home, didn’t see planets as living, breathing souls whose death required mourning. A different worldview. Earth was as much a person to Harper as she was to Trance who had called her friend.

“Perhaps, but I am worried all the same. He is still struggling with losing Earth. There is a lot of anger inside of him he hasn’t had a chance to work through.”

Beka smiled a gentle smile, a mother’s smile. “I will keep an eye on him Trance, I promise. Doyle will too. She won’t let him get hurt.”

“I know.” Trance glanced down at her half eaten cereal, picked up the bowl and poured its contents into the composter, catching Beka’s look of disapproval as she did so. As she placed the bowl in the dish sanitizer, snagging Harper’s dishes while she was at it, she longed for the day when her life was no longer under a microscope and her friends took a little less interest in how much she ate, drank, and slept.

“Try not to worry. Everything will be fine.”

Trance sure hoped so. Maybe a nice hot shower would clear her mind.

 

*******************

 

Trance felt Harper’s presence behind her before she saw his reflection in her small tabletop mirror. She didn’t acknowledge him at first, concentrated as she was on pinning a braid around her crown to hold the bulk of her hair away from her face. A simpler style than she used to wear, but she found the elaborate updos of old were too time consuming now that she did not have the extra hours or energy to dedicate to her appearance. Especially since her curls tangled so much in her sleep. She’d pondered cutting them short, wearing her hair the way she had when she was younger, but could not bring herself to do it. A small bit of vanity. One she allowed herself.

“Looks nice that way,” he said, and she imagined it was to say something, anything to fill the void, but did not doubt he found the style attractive. He seemed to find a great deal about her attractive lately, though didn’t say much about it. His lack of innuendos and comments about her appearance despite his body language in the past few weeks was a mystery she’d yet to solve. She smiled at him through her reflection, reaching out to grab a few small crystal clips, shaped like tiny stars, to decorate the braid. She clipped them on, taking her time, as he stepped into her small room. It must be nearing time for her to leave the Maru, but she had been waiting for him.

“Thank you.” She gathered her things together with care and stashed them in one of the soft sided pockets on the wall, then turned to Harper, standing a few steps away. He too had showered and changed, wearing black cargo pants and a grey t-shirt with an abstract pattern down one side, fully loaded tool belt hanging around his hips. The scent of soap, shampoo, and a permutation of the musky aroma human males enjoyed dousing themselves in, still clung to him.

He shifted on his feet and pursed his lips to the side. His eyes tried to twitch away from hers, but he trained them back immediately. “Listen, I uh…”

“Is your back all right?” she interrupted.

He blinked at her, surprised at the question. “Uh, yeah. It’s fine after some stretching and a hot shower.”

She nodded, pulling her lips into a thin smile. “Good. I’m glad. You were there for me last night and I wanted to thank you. You seem to always be there when I need you lately.”

Her fingers closed and opened at her side. A static tension surrounded them. Beka and Doyle’s voices rose and fell in the background. Rhade’s voice joined in. The three of them laughed at some joke. But the others were of no consequence. This moment belonged to Harper and her.

Why did it always feel like she was beginning again with him? When nothing came between them, it was easy to be friends. It was easy, she admitted, to love him. Yet the needs of the universe and her own fears kept interfering, driving them apart. It stopped today. She did not have the energy, or the lifespan left to keep starting over.

“It was nothing. Listen, about everything…”

“You don’t need to say anything,” she said, cutting him off again. Of course it wasn’t nothing. He had fallen asleep sitting up on her bunk for her benefit. He had not even hesitated to be there for her though she had brushed him off in anger and avoided him the entire day before. She suddenly did not want him to continue. To apologize for something that wasn’t his fault to begin with.

She spoke from her heart. “We don’t ever have to talk about it again. It is something that should remain between Dylan and me. I am so sorry I took it out on you.”

“Trance…”

“Let me finish, please. I promise I will let you speak.” She could tell he was uncomfortable, fidgeting on his feet, fingers playing with his toolbelt. But, she needed to get this out before she over thought it. “Harper, what I need more than anything right now is my best friend. I need _you_. So let’s not talk about it anymore. I already know you are sorry. I also know that you are going to keep working on it. It’s your job, and a part of who you are. It is okay. Really, it is.”

Silence fell between them. The Maru breathed. Beka gave an inaudible order and continued speaking to Rhade. She and Harper stood eye to eye staring at each other. For once, Harper appeared to have no words.

Footsteps sounded on the deck, coming closer. Doyle appeared in the doorway, mouth open to speak, but closed it as she took in the scene. She turned as if to leave, but turned back again, catching Trance’s eye, discomfort apparent. “Hey, um, Beka wanted me to let you know that you have fifteen minutes.”

“Thanks Doyle,” Trance said. Doyle looked as if she were going to say something else, but turned to leave instead. Trance turned her attention back to Harper and on seeing the wheels turning behind his eyes said in an exasperated tone, “For once in your life, can you just accept this at face value?”

“Well… Okay,” Harper said after a few more breaths. His shell-shocked expression making her laugh. He narrowed his eyes at her for a moment, then his lips twitched too, and a laugh broke through. A wonderful laugh. It infected her and she felt more laughter rise from deep within her, escaping into the room, filling it. She didn’t know why they were laughing, really. Just one of those moments. But it felt wonderful.

“I’d forgotten,” he said once he’d calmed down.

“Forgotten what?” Her turn to be confused.

“That you were so bossy,” he said. “Over the last year you’ve pretty much been a contender for the sweetest, most nicest person in the Universe. I’d almost forgotten how much you used to boss me around.” His eyes twinkled, and the grin took five years off his face. She might have been hurt or insulted in the past, but not today. Today she took it in good humor, the way it was meant.

“Well, you do on occasion need a bit of guidance,” she teased. “Quite a bit of guidance.” And he laughed again. It brightened the room. If only she could keep him laughing. Let it surround her. Take them back to happier times. But she did not have much time, and they needed to be serious for a moment. She took a deep breath. “I am going to be bossy right now. Be careful down there. You need to remember that this is about helping Jace’s family, not seeking revenge for Earth. You are one man, and you need to focus on the bigger picture, no matter how hard that is. Beka wants to change things, and you can help most by listening to what she says.”

For the second time in a few minutes he stood silent as if he had run out of words. The laughter died a sudden and painful death.

“I wasn’t planning on picking any fights.” His tone held a note of defensiveness.

She sighed, frowning at him, wishing there were a way to lessen the impact of her words, as they were not the kindest, but they were the truth. “Harper, you don’t plan much when you are angry.”

He frowned now, shifting again on his feet. He squared his shoulders. About to argue. Then his shoulders slumped, defeated. Even he could not deny it. “Okay mom, I’ll be careful.”

She forgave him the sneer on his face and the snarkiness of his tone. If that is what it took to make him think before acting, so be it. She had been the bad guy before. Made a point of it, really.

“Guess I am going to have to get used to this again, huh?” he asked. She stepped closer to him, close enough to see the lights reflecting in his eyes, to see the stubble already trying to break through on his chin, to smell the machine oil permanently soaked into his pores. Her heart remembered the feeling of his arms around her last night, fluttered in her chest, urging her to close the distance between them.

They were definitely too far down this path now.

“I only do it because I care.” She placed a hand on his arm and squeezed. “I have to go now or Beka is going to chase me off. Come back in one piece, okay?” As she turned to leave, to go back to Andromeda and wait, she leaned in and kissed his cheek. When she passed the grate that separated her room from the rest of the ship, she stole one more glance at him. He remained where she’d left him, surrounded by her garden, hand over the place she had kissed him, a faraway expression on his face.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Phew, I wasn't sure this one was going to be ready on time, but I made it. For those who wanted me to fix Harper and Trance, I hope I did all right ^_^.


	16. Present Past

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning: This chapter contains some hard stuff, like mentions of bad things happening to children and character death in an alternate timeline.

“A row of hedges?” Doyle asked, voice askance, face the picture of righteous indignation with lips formed into a grimace and head jerking slightly to the side with each word. “The human ghetto is hidden from view by a row of hedges?”

Harper shrugged, not sure what to tell her. On one side of the tall hedge wall were green hedges and sterling white houses built with the clean, rounded lines of pre-fall architecture, decorated with neatly trimmed seas of green grass and perfect rainbow rows of fragrant flowers, pathways of cobbled stones, and even a three tiered fountain in front of one house. On the balcony of another, a child, maybe ten-years-old, tinkered with a remote control toy, the outline of his mother in the window. The woman watched suspiciously as their trio walk past.

There was no way the child could not see into the ghetto from the balcony. Maybe even from one of the many windows in the house. The hedges on his side grew along a barbed wire fence meant to keep humans from trespassing into the more civilized sectors of society. Buildings there had once been beautiful. Had once been towering testaments to the economic power of the sector. Now, they lay in ruins with bare metallic bones exposed to the elements, stretching into the sky as if praying to the Divine for the return of better days.

Humans didn’t live in the sky anymore. They lived packed into too small a space on the muddy, rutted ground, like rats, feet and legs always covered in muck and grime. He didn’t dare tell Beka and Doyle what that grime contained in a place where only a quarter of the citizens had access to functional plumbing. If that many. There was a reason Andromeda had vaccinated them several ‘dead’ illnesses before their trip.

Dingey rags hung from windows to keep out the elements. Peddlers set up shop on crusted blankets. Parts over here. Wilted greens from a window garden there. Men, women and children  trying to make a couple gilders in the hopes of eating another day. An ocean of greys and browns. Of ash and dust. From the buildings down to the people. A world in sepia tones that left the eye begging for a flash of color.

The assault on one’s eyes was nothing compared to the stench. Mold. Excrement. Rotting garbage. The pervasive reek of death and decay.

But what was it to a Dragon boy in a well-to-do family? Just an animal pen. A fenced in farm of Kludges and Mules. Look at them. Uncivilized. Living and breeding in their own filth. This was where the uncooperative and undesirable humans lived. The worst of the animals. Those that still harbored some pride. Some sense of freedom. Some sense of autonomy. They deserved this filth.They had not learned their places. The ghetto would teach them.

“Keep it down, Doyle. The bozos in back might hear you,” he muttered.

Harper spared a look at the Dragon soldiers marching a few meters behind. Their ‘escorts’. Rifles hung at their sides and they walked with military precision. Backs straight. Bone blades displayed. They were here because Beka had seven warships—more than Harper had expected—defending her position as Matriarch. But, their weapons and expressions said one step out of line and none of that would matter.  Beka followed his gaze then reached out to him, fingers brushing his arm. Comfort with a side of warning. _Don’t do anything stupid_.

Up ahead, a gap in the hedge led to a checkpoint. The way into the ghetto. Their Nietzschean guards would leave them at the gate. No need to dirty Nietzschean boots outside of labor raids and the occasional public crucifixion. Human guards, collaborators loyal to the Dragons, patrolled inside. Traitors to their people, bought at the price of three hots and a cot.

Beka’s skin paled as they reached the gate, day pass at the ready. Armed humans in new-ish armor manned the station. If they were curious, they didn’t show it, keeping their faces passive and eyes down.

“Thanks,” Harper sneered when a man with baked leather skin passed him back his pass. Most collaborators were just scared people trying to survive. Same as everyone else. Only a few actually enjoyed their work, taking pleasure in feeling superior to the rabble that scrounged for food in back alleys. But Harper felt no sympathy for these men. Hated them, even. Collaborators destroyed lives for the illusion of safety. They sold out other struggling souls for a pair of shiny new boots. It had been people like these guards who brought death to his doorstep, who turned a thirteen-year-old boy in for the audacity of being smart, and therefore dangerous.

“I think I’m going to be sick,” Beka said, holding a handkerchief over her mouth and nose as they stepped into the ghetto proper. Even his olfactory senses, deadened years ago to the ghetto ‘funk’ as they called it when they were young and stupid, were affronted.

“Where to?” Doyle asked.

Harper consulted his flexi and pointed down a road thick with mud and uneven with broken pavement. “That way. Once we get to sector three, we might have to ask around, because addresses don’t get any more specific than this.”

Around the corner they ran into their first starving child, watching them as they moved past with wide brown eyes, gender ambiguous underneath matted hair and a dirt-caked face. His eyes fell on a distended belly, easy to make out under a threadbare tank top, and he looked away. Without immediate medical care this kid, likely an orphan, wasn’t going to make it. He felt the weight of his backpack, stuffed with food and medical supplies, an offering and show of goodwill for Jace’s family, drag down his shoulders.

_There will be dozens of kids just like this one. Can’t help them all._

Hungry, sick people weren’t willing to listen. They needed this food.

He averted his eyes, looking to his companions instead, and wished he hadn’t. Doyle had stopped moving, her eyes riveted on the child, shining with moisture. She had seen her share of suffering on Seefra, a place where ninety-percent of citizens lived in abject poverty. But, this was beyond poverty. This was engineered suffering. A purposeful slow and torturous death sentence to remind good little worker bees the price of freedom.

Beka stopped a few steps ahead and looked back when she realized they were not following. Harper closed his eyes and shook his head, taking a deep breath, wishing the air were clean enough for breathing to do any good. He glanced at the child again, then back to Doyle. He put a hand on her arm and shook his head.

“There is nothing we can do.”

It took her a few seconds to tear her eyes away and look at him. On another day, in another place, he would have been in awe of his own skill, at the depth of emotion Doyle displayed as she stared at him in disbelief. He really was a genius. But not here. Not in this place that reminded him of the cost of his intelligence.

“There has to be something.”

How long did it take to harden a heart? He hated himself for what he was about to say.

“There are going to be kids like that on every corner. Adults too. We don’t have enough food or resources to do a damned thing to help. It’s best if you try not to see them.”

Doyle looked at him as if he had become a stranger. “How can you say that?”

“Because I lived this, Doyle,” he snapped. Doyle recoiled and he regret his outburst.

“I don’t want to say it, but Harper is right,” Beka said, coming up beside them. “We need to keep moving and do what we came here to do. I want to put a stop to this, but we have to take it one day at a time.”

Doyle shook her head at both of them. “It will be too late for this one.”

She turned away reluctantly. Harper’s heart twisted at the look in her eyes and against his better judgement he found himself digging a protein bar and a water ration out of his backpack. As the two women trekked forward, he veered off. The child looked up at him, wary.

“Here kid. I know I don’t have to tell you to eat it slow,” he said, kneeling down with his offering outstretched. The child took it from him, holding the packages carefully. No words of thanks, but he could see the gratitude in those eyes. He felt no sense of accomplishment. No warm fuzzies. He knew what kind of life awaited a child alone on the streets. A tiny morsel was a small favor.

Doyle’s eyes were on him when he rejoined the group. She gave him a grateful smile. He didn’t say anything and made it a point to look only forward and down as he plodded after Beka, one foot in front of the other, trying not to remember the streets of Boston littered with children just like that. Trying to forget the distended bellies of his cousin’s kids. He was eighteen and the Dragons had blocked relief supplies in response to a minor uprising. He tried to keep away the face of the man he had clubbed in a back alley. The man who had stolen a fist sized hunk of moldy cheese meant to feed those children. He never knew if he had killed him. Never wanted to know the true amount of blood on his hands. Doubtless, too much.

They made a left turn at the end of the road, followed for a few blocks, then made a right, descending deeper and deeper into hell. Fearful eyes followed them. Hands rested on weapons hidden beneath layers of dirty rags, ready to defend what little they had. He and Beka kept their eyes blinded. Did not engage. He reached out and grabbed Doyle’s hand. Her tiny grunts of disgust told him how much this was affecting her. She had not heeded his advice, continuing with eyes open, absorbing it all.

Perhaps he should have programmed her with a colder heart, but he loved her compassion. It had grown with each passing year, evolving far beyond her original programming, partnering with an innate sense of justice to make one amazing woman. Problem was, both emotions were a liability in a place like New Burke, where holding on to even a drop of faith in humanity was a sign of madness.

“We’re almost there,” he said, giving her hand a squeeze. At least, they were almost to the sector Jace’s family allegedly lived. No telling whether they were there or not, or what obstacles they would face getting to them.

“This is wrong,” she replied.

“Tell me something I don’t know.” If his tone was a little sarcastic, he could not be blamed. If he never saw another human ghetto in his entire life, it would be too soon. Doyle squeezed his hand in return.

“If this is what your childhood was like, perhaps I am better off not having one. You told me, but I had no idea. It didn’t really sink in.”

He let out a huff and motioned to their surroundings with his free hand. “Yeah, this is something you can only understand if you experience it. Refugee camps. Ghettos. It doesn’t matter. All are the same level of suck. But at least they were better than the labor camps. Better to die on your own two feet then in chains.”

Doyle stopped walking and looked over to him. “That’s horrible.”

“That’s the way it is here.” He started moving again, pulling her along with him so Beka didn’t get too far ahead. The other woman had not said a word since they left the child behind, though the grim set of her face said that she was holding plenty back. Now was not the time to ponder the inherent unfairness of the Universe. As she had explained on the Maru before they started, a successful mission would set a precedent in negotiating with other prides, prove to them she was serious.

And it made him love Beka more. Because she did not have to take on the plight of the slaves. She did not have to make her job harder. Yet she did it, because Beka always stuck up for the little guys. Stuck up for those that could not stick up for themselves. Screw authority and anyone who told her it wasn’t possible.

“This is it,” Beka said after a few more minutes, stopping in front of a pile of rubble. The building Rommie’s intel had directed them to was nothing more than the burned out shell of a warehouse, the metallic walls that were still standing blackened with acrid soot. Beka and Doyle exchanged confused glances, but Harper visually scanned the area.

There, hidden behind some barrels, was an entrance, likely leading to the basement. He tapped Beka’s arm and pointed, putting a finger up to his lip. They needed to proceed with caution. If not manned with guns, there would be a booby trap or two to give the residents enough warning about intruders. Real estate was hard to come by, expensive, and heavily defended. 

Beka and Doyle put their hands on their guns without drawing, standing alert.

He pulled out his multi-tool and tapped a few commands, looking for the identity signatures they had on file for Jace’s family. Nothing but static.

“I can’t tell if they are here. They’re jamming the signal,” he whispered.

Good for them. One of the first things he’d had done after leaving Earth was have his identity chip, mandatory for food rations in refugee camps, surgically removed. Identity chips were often used by the Dragons to draw lots for stints in the labor camps, or to hunt down people they wanted to disappear. There were those in the ghettos who boasted of their ability to get rid of them, but without access to proper medical facilities, most people opted to mask their signal instead of creating unnecessary risks of infection.

“Let’s move in and check it out. Doyle, cover us,” Beka ordered. Doyle took cover in the shadows and drew her gun, eyes locked on the location of the basement entrance. Harper and Beka moved out slowly, taking small steps, and holding their hands in front of them to show they meant no harm.

He heard the unmistakable click of a gauss gun switching on right as he saw a figure dressed in the style he lovingly called ‘post apocalyptic chic’—multiple stained layers with leather patches and reinforcements—step out from the shadows. Even under those layers he could tell she was too thin. Hadn’t had a good meal in months. If ever.

“Keep those hands where I can see them. What’s a group of well fed collaborators doing this deep in the ghetto?”

  


********************

 

“If you tell my bots what to do, they can do the harvesting for you,” Rommie said as she approached Trance, careful not to frighten her friend, who was bent over the bed of strawberry plants, fingers deftly moving through the leaves, pulling ripe berries and setting them in a basket, already half full beside her. The plants, already blooming when they arrived, had taken well to Trance’s care and little by little she’d managed to collect a sizeable number of ripe berries to put in stasis for the surprise she had been planning for Harper. Rommie reminded Trance every so often that she did not need to do as much manual labor as she did, but Trance preferred to work with her hands.

“Rommie!” Trance exclaimed, looking up, a genuine friendly smile on her face.

Rommie extended a tray of tea, small sandwiches, and Trance’s favorite pastries—added last minute to this morning’s menu—forward before setting it down on the plant bed wall. “I brought tea and snacks. You haven’t been to the Mess since breakfast, and that was hours ago.”

Trance raised an eyebrow. “Shouldn’t we be heading to the gym on Deck 14? I am not looking forward to weights, but I was going to head up in a minute.”

“I thought you could use a break, and we have not had a lot of time to just hang out lately,” Rommie said with a smile, taking a seat beside the tray. She did have ulterior motives, but her words were not a complete lie. Trance had been her evening companion for a number of years. Those evenings had meant more to Rommie than she had known. She missed her friend.

Trance moved around and took a seat next to the food, eying it with interest. She must have been hungry. For three days now she’d returned all of her meals to the recycler half eaten, relying on the shakes she choked down with no enjoyment to meet her calorie goals. True, they were adequate nutrition and if necessary she could live off of them, but Rommie had observed that organics took pleasure in eating, and Trance had enjoyed consuming food even when she did not need to. If the standard menu was not working, perhaps adding Trance’s favorites would.

It was nice to have cooks again.

It was nice to have a crew again.

Trance narrowed her eyes, uncharacteristic suspicion crossing her face so quickly Rommie might have missed it if she were not programmed to observe minute changes in body language.

“What is it?”

“I’m sorry. It’s nothing.” While the suspicion had melted from her features, it now found purchase in tense shoulders. She picked up a kiva fruit and cheese sandwich, but did not take a bite. “Thank you for the food.”

“Something is bothering you. You can tell me.”

Trance twisted her shoulders back and forth, then looked over. “Did Dylan send you to talk to me?”

She should have considered Trance might think of her as a messenger. She had been in the past. That was not why she was here, though. Dylan and Trance would work through this, as they had worked through their differences of opinions and betrayals of trust before. Of that, she was confident. There were other, more pressing concerns on Rommie’s mind.

“No, Dylan did not send me. I came as a friend. Since you injured your wrist yesterday while working out, I did not think it was wise to irritate it further today. The jogging you logged earlier will be sufficient for today. You are exhausted, and in no condition to push yourself further.”

Trance’s injury had been sustained during a Beka Valentine style showdown with the punching bag on Deck 14. The punching bag won this time. Not the first time Trance had forgotten herself, but the first time no one else had been present. She must have thought to hide it—a lie by omission. But, it was difficult to hide anythings from an AI.

Surprise was quickly replaced with a defensive squaring of her shoulders, her eyes flicking unconsciously to her left wrist, giving her away. Trance had never been as good at hiding her body language from Rommie as she believed she was, though more a testament to how strong her emotions were than a lack of skill. The signs were subtle, even to Rommie’s trained eye.

“It is just a minor sprain. I was able to treat it with the supplies I had in my room. The muscle knitting nanobots are helping repair the damage. It hardly hurts today.”

Rommie gave a quick nod, acknowledging the attempted brush off. “Your pain threshold is getting higher and your body appears to heal quicker than a human’s. Your metabolism seems to rival a heavy worlder’s, but built more for speed and agility than strength. I think that is why you sleep and eat more than typical humans,” she said. Then, before Trance could use it to justify continuing to push herself recklessly, she crossed her arms across her chest, face forming a serious mask and added, “However, pain is the body’s way of telling you it needs to rest, even with a high pain threshold, and you have been getting little of that. In approximately two weeks, the muscle knitting bots will lose their effectiveness. You will need to rely on your own abilities to gain strength. It is better to learn to listen to your body now, before you have no choice.”

Trance put the sandwich back on the plate without taking a bite. She studied Rommie’s face appraisingly, then giggled softly, shaking her head. Not the response Rommie expected.

Her brow wrinkled. “What?”

“It is odd to be the one being doctored. You and Doyle have done a wonderful job and I was just comparing your styles. She sugar coats things a little more.”

Rommie raised an eyebrow. A fair assessment. Doyle was more prone to human behaviors like hiding difficult messages in prettier words. Rommie believed the truth should be told regardless of discomfort. But, perhaps given Trance’s current emotional state, Doyle’s method was better? Over the years, she had learned a great deal about organics and their emotions, but there were gaps in her knowledge.

“Do you require sugar coating?” she asked to clarify.

Another laugh. “No, Rommie. It was just an observation. It is, perhaps, best that you don’t. You are right, I need to slow down. I have been impatient.” Trance prodded her wrist with a tender, practiced touch, then she smiled. “Even without the nanobots, it will be better in a couple of days. I suppose I can hold off on anything that will tax it until then.”

She turned her attention to the tray again and instead of grabbing another sandwich she busied herself preparing a cup of herbal tea.

At least Trance attempted to stay positive, even if it hid her true feelings sometimes. A positive attitude was an essential part of recovery. Harper once told Rommie ‘ _you have to fake it until you make it.’_ He was talking about picking up women, and at a success rate of exactly 2.08%—by her count—she did not believe that particular strategy to be working for him. But, it fit Trance’s situation well. Still, there was ample evidence mounting that Trance needed much more than a positive attitude.

“Trance, I am concerned. You seem worried. Distracted.” It was more than that, but Rommie wanted to ease in with the understanding it was going to be difficult and uncomfortable for Trance to confront these issues. Though she hid it well behind her smiles and deflections, her mental health appeared to be deteriorating. Harper had been the first to bring up his concerns, but they they aligned with her own observations.

Out of an abundance of caution, Trance was passively monitored for sudden changes in her life signs since several times a day she came into contact with, or consumed, items her body had never been exposed to before. So far, these scans had not revealed any allergies, but instead showed an escalating trend of acute stress responses—often at night, and usually when Trance was alone, though not always.

Two nights ago her heart and respiration rates had changed enough for Rommie to be alerted, but Harper had stepped in and his methods had calmed her. That event, paired with the data she had gathered, was indicative of a larger problem, one that needed to be addressed immediately.

“I guess I am,” Trance said, not elaborating further. She stood and returned to her previous occupation of berry picking. She reached out and rubbed the petals of a blossom then turned her attention to some wilted leaves, picking them off with care.

After, she knelt still, hands on the bed wall, head bent as if in prayer, a deep frown forming on her face, worries moving to the surface. Rommie moved to her friend, putting a hand on her shoulder.

“What are you thinking? Talking might help,” she said.

Trance blinked her eyes into focus and looked up at Rommie. Her lips twitched, wrinkles forming on her forehead, pupils darting back and forth as she watched Rommie’s face.

“I promise whatever you tell me will remain between the two of us so long as it does not threaten the safety of the crew.” Rommie said as she set down beside Trance.

Trance nodded, then pulled herself up beside Rommie, keeping her back straight. Rommie engaged privacy mode with a thought.

“I have seen all of you die hundreds of times.” Trance’s tone was hushed and as serious as her words were surprising. Had it been anyone else murmuring them, Rommie would have thought it hyperbole, but she did not doubt Trance spoke the truth.

“In what you call probability waves?” she asked.

“Yes, most of them. Hundreds of possible deaths for each of you, and one real one for everyone, but Beka.” Trance folded her hands on her lap. She seemed unable to figure out where to look and settled on her hands.

“The alternate timeline you came back from?”

Trance nodded again. “I don’t remember much about that future since Seefra, but I remember the beginning clearly. More than I wish to. That is where everything started to go so wrong.”

“What happened?”

“In that future, Harper didn’t make it into the Machine Shop on time. We arrived around the same time, like we did in this timeline, only it took Beka, Harper, and me longer. He was in more pain than I can even imagine when we arrived. It was too late, they were hatching.”

Rommie felt goosebumps forming on her arms, a sensation she would never find comfortable was at a loss to explain how Harper had done it. Trance continued to keep her gaze down.

“Tyr was the one who took his life, in the end, and Beka held him as he died. Tyr said he made a promise to Harper, but I think he ultimately did it to save Dylan’s soul.”

Over the last year, Trance had been quick to tears, but none fell now. Trance’s tearless, stoic stance told Rommie more than tears would have. Trance had internalized this story. It had become a part of her, ingrained in her memory banks—one of the components that made up her personality matrix.

Trance looked up now, meeting Rommie’s eyes. “After, I had you take him to Med Deck where we made him whole again. But, he wasn’t Harper anymore. That spark of life, that bit of Harper that is so unlike anyone I have ever met, was gone.” She took a deep breath. A knot formed above her nose as her frown deepened. “I thought he should be somewhere beautiful while we decided what to do with his body, so we put him in Obs where he could rest among the stars while everyone said their goodbyes.

“Dylan came first. Then Tyr. You sent a message to Rev, though we knew it would not reach him for several days.

“Beka did not come for a long time. I sat by Harper’s side. I could not leave him alone, even for a moment. I waited for her to come because I knew she _needed_ to see him one last time before we buried him. Late in the night, when I had almost given up hope, she showed. Her face was so broken. So raw with pain….

“I had not cried yet, but when I stepped into the hallway to give Beka some space, I finally lost it. Perhaps it was Beka. Perhaps it had finally settled in. I don’t know how long I cried, but at some point Beka came out and sat beside me and held me until I was done.”

For a moment, Rommie tried to imagine the Universe without Harper. Her sister AIs had known the ship without him, had been cared for by other engineers, but she had been created by his hands. He had been a constant presence in her life. Andromeda would accuse her of sentimentality, but Rommie knew his loss would leave an empty place in them all. They would be lying if they said it would not.

She reached out to Trance and placed a hand on her shoulder, squeezed gently, let her know that she was there. Trance had been carrying these memories alone for so many years. Unlike an AI, there was no locking them away or erasing them. How much more did Trance keep hidden away in the darkest parts of her mind?

“After Beka left, I prepared his body for burial. He is not religious, so I used the traditions of my people. I lit candles around him, because we believe that you should never be shrouded in darkness. I wrapped his body in white sheets, then went to hydroponics and gathered the most beautiful flowers from Earth I could find, because we also believe that you should be kept close to your system, and we were far from Earth. I sat with him all night. You sat beside me. Together we held a silent vigil. The next day, the Dragons wouldn’t let us anywhere near Earth. So, in the end, we gave his body to the sun.”

Trance reached out and grabbed a strawberry from the nearby basket, alternatively twisting it between her fingers and rubbing its bumpy surface. Fidgeting.

“Harper was loved more than he’s ever understood. We all blamed ourselves. You for the program that brought us to the Worldship. Beka because she had taken him off Earth. Dylan for bringing him onto Andromeda. And Tyr… He blamed himself for being the hand that killed him, as if in those last few minutes there could have been any other result.” Here Trance paused and Rommie was certain the tears were going to fall. They didn’t. When she spoke again, her voice broke. “But it wasn’t anyone’s fault, but mine.”

“You blamed yourself for something completely out of your control? You were able to see possible futures, but I never got the impression that you were omniscient and you certainly weren’t omnipotent. It was not your fault.”

Trance didn’t say anything at first, just twirled the strawberry in her hands. Round and round. She looked up at Rommie, eyes unwavering, face smooth, but expression still gravely serious.

“It was, though. I wanted to save him, could have saved him if I had all of my powers, but the Nebula had bound them, leaving me with only my sight. Even then, I knew of other possibilities, other ways to make sure he survived, but each one of those paths took me further from my goals. From my people’s goals. I begged them to let me explore other options, but they refused. Harper’s role in the perfect possible future was always expendable. So, I followed their command, and I let him die.

“Rommie, it killed me inside. He was my best friend, the first person in my entire life who I could truly call a peer, and I let him die because of orders.”

Here, she let out a dejected laugh, half her mouth pulling into a cheerless smile. “I lost my sparkle. Everyone noticed. They tried to cheer me up. Told me they knew how close Harper and I were. Even Beka. Poor, broken Beka tried to put a smile on my face. But it was like I had forgotten how. It didn’t matter, in the end. Two months later, everyone but Beka was dead.”

Rommie still could not see how Harper’s death had been Trance’s fault, though she understood why Trance blamed herself. The effects on soldiers who had to carry out difficult orders during wartime were well documented in a number of species. Most emotional sentients were subject to survivor’s guilt, depression, and post-traumatic stress, even AIs.

When Trance continued, her tone had changed, taking on the deeper, harder notes that were common shortly after she returned from the future. “The longer I was with Beka in that other future, the more I dreamed. The more I patched her up and turned her into my puppet, the more disillusioned I grew with the Nebula. I fought against their will. Eventually, as I aged, my powers returned to me. I began to dream further, to seek out more and more improbable futures. I was going to save Harper, and then I was going to keep him safe. I was going to defeat the abyss and keep all of you safe. And I did, for a while.”

Rommie stood again, pulled her arms behind her back and paced, processing Trance’s words, calculating what to say, what to ask. She wanted to pull Trance back to the present. These intrusive thoughts and memories had a present-day trigger, and a few theories surfaced.

“You are worried about the mission, about Harper? You cannot protect him, and you cannot rely on your visions to reassure you he is safe?” she asked. Trance put the strawberry back in the basket, then nodded slowly.

“I cannot protect anyone anymore.”

“It is not your job to protect us. We are a crew. We work together to protect each other, and Harper knows how to take care of himself. He would not have survived on Earth if he did not.”

“I know Rommie, but I feel like I _should_ be able to. I am so afraid of losing everyone,” she whispered.

Rommie decided it was time to address what she had come to address.

“Trance, I need to ask you something, and want you to know there is no judgement in my question, only a desire to help.”

Trance gave a small nod as permission to continue, eyeing Rommie warily.

“Do you understand what is happening to you? Medically speaking?”

Trance stood suddenly. “We should walk. I feel like I need to move and I have some work to do in the Vedran section before we arrive on Tarn Vedra. I’ve been in contact with the horticulture specialists the Commonwealth has sent from Xinti and they are very interested in the specimens we have onboard. A few might even be useful to reintroduce during phase one of the restoration.”

Rommie nodded her agreement, following Trance’s lead as she began to move through the gardens. Trance hadn’t needed to explain. Rommie knew the details of the work Trance was doing, but let Trance speak anyway.

As they passed the large tree at the center of hydroponics—a Vedran “luck” tree, so called by humans because its real name was too hard to pronounce, and because it had played a central role in ancient rituals on the plains of Tarn Vedra meant to bestow long life and prosperity—Trance reached up her hand to the leaves, allowing them to brush against her skin as they moved past. Rommie found herself entertaining the fanciful notion that some of the trees luck might rub off on her friend and make life a little easier.

“Trance?” she pressed after a few moments. Trance was a gifted healer and introspective enough that Rommie would be surprised if she did not know and was just uncomfortable admitting it.

“Yes, I understand what is happening,” Trance answered, eyes downcast. “Nightmares, pervasive recurrent memories, and now panic attacks. They are classic symptoms of Post Traumatic Stress Disorder.”

“How long have you suspected?”

Trance stopped in front of a flower bed where a few bell-shaped blossoms drooped. If she were a more sentimental android, which she was _not_ , she might even say that they looked as if they were in mourning. A few of their dark green leaves were curled and lined with brown, indicating a problem with the environmental controls or a disease in the plant itself. Trance concentrated a concerned frown on the flowers in much the same way she did a sick patient, felt the soil, and tapped a few commands into a control panel, adjusting the water output and making a note to remind her to check on them in twenty-four hours. Rommie knew she was not being ignored so she waited.

“It crossed my mind after the first few nightmares that I should keep an eye on myself, but I was convinced I was managing all right. It is natural to feel a number of things after a long illness and a loss like mine.”

Trance made it sound like the loss of a friend, not the loss of an essential part of herself, political and literal exile, a vastly shortened lifespan, and physical weakness. A loss that required a complete reshuffling of her identity and long term rehabilitation. Each of those changes, taken alone, came with well documented struggles and higher risks of depression and other mental illnesses, much less combined.

“Yes. It is natural, but some losses are greater than others and have a greater impact. That you are able to function at such a high level and have come so far in such short time is a testament to your resilience. There is no shame in needing help.” Rommie said, and then added, “Or medical intervention.”

They stopped in front of a large rack with rows of Vedran plants. Many had been relocated from different sections in the last week, preparing for their first trip back to Tarn Vedra since it rejoined the known worlds.

“I don’t know how to help myself, and that frightens me,” Trance admitted, then after a beat with fingers extending and retracting at her sides, added, “I was also afraid that if I mentioned the escalation of symptoms that it would delay my return to duty.”

Rommie gave Trance a small smile she hoped was reassuring, looking her friend in the eyes. “I do not believe that would be wise. You do not need to fear that. As for where to start, sleep seems like the easiest symptom to address. I believe most medications that work on humans will work on you if the dosage is properly titrated. I have compiled a list of a few formulas for you to look through. You have not slept well since moving from Med Deck, and you know how important restorative sleep is.”

Trance gave a quick surprised, and shell-shocked nod. Rommie continued, “The panic attacks are something else we can look at. I am already watching your lifesigns, I can help you recognize when your body is reacting to stressors so we can explore your thought process and identify triggers. I am reluctant to suggest long term medications at this time since I don’t believe we have enough data to know what your brain chemistry is supposed to be, but I have also flagged a few medications that may stop a panic attack if it is caught before it happens.”

“I don’t know what to say,” Trance said, then after a beat added, “Thank you. You are a wonderful friend, Rommie. It isn’t easy to approach someone you are worried about, no matter how prepared you are.”

Trance’s shoulders tightened again, her mind following an invisible thread somewhere else. Rommie felt her lips curl into a thin smile, guessing the thread stretched across galaxies to the Kepler system, to someone else whose mental health also needed evaluation. Someone far more set in his ways and much less compliant than Trance. Something else that needed to be addressed.

“Trance, I have one more question for you. If you do not feel comfortable answering, it is all right, but I think it is relevant to our conversation. I promise the answer will remain between you and me. Not even Dylan will find out.”

Trance narrowed her eyes, confused and concerned. “Should I sit down for this?”

“If it will make you more comfortable,” Rommie replied.

Eying her nervously, Trance moved to the nearest bench.

“What’s up?”

Rommie sat down beside her and decided direct was the best route. “What are your feelings for Harper?”

A number of expressions crossed Trance’s face in quick succession. Her fingers began to move, tapping the bench. Her mouth fell open, then closed again. She met Rommie’s eyes for a second and looked down at her lap. She finally fell still and Rommie was certain she was not going to answer. It had been a long shot question.

Trance shook her head and swallowed, pressing her lips tightly together. Even without an answer, Rommie had enough data to know that she was on the right track.

Looking up, Trance said with another shake of her head, “Confused. Like they have always been.”

Rommie caught Trance’s eyes, held her gaze, hoping her expression conveyed the care and support she wanted Trance to feel.

“It might be beneficial to try and clarify those feelings. It might help you understand the source and depth of some of your fears.” Rommie said gently.

Trance’s brow wrinkled. “So, you are saying that I should consider a romantic relationship with Harper?” she asked, in all seriousness. It occurred to Rommie that Trance must have already been thinking along these lines.

She raised an eyebrow and sat up a little straighter. “No. I did not say that. But it is interesting that _you_ did.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I promise happy things will happen soon! I really do love these characters and want what is best for them. As always, thanks for reading!


	17. Stand Off

So, they were going to have themselves a good old-fashioned stand off. A human tradition. He’d pass if it was all right with the Universe, thanks.

_These are the good guys, we don’t want to hurt them._

Telling himself he didn’t want to hurt anyone, and telling his fight-or-flight instinct, which seemed stuck on fight, were two different things. His fingers twitched for his gun, but he kept his hands in front of him. If they played things right, no one would die, and at least four people would be much better off. Goals.

“We’re not here to hurt you, and we aren’t collaborators. My name is Seamus Harper, I’m from Earth. Got out years ago. I want nothing more than to see every last Uber pay for what they’ve done. We’re looking for Garrin Lange and his family, do they live here?” Harper asked, stepping forward, one reluctant foot in front of the other. Though this was Beka’s gig, they decided on the Maru to let him take point. For the first time, he was the least likely to get shot. Pretty funny, in a morbid sort of way.

“Earth doesn’t exist anymore.” the woman sneered. He didn’t blame her for her distrust. The first step here wasn’t trust. It was getting her to listen instead of shoot. She didn’t want to kill them. If they weren’t collaborators, it was innocent blood spilled. If they were, it was a target on her back with little chance of escape.

“I know. I was there.” Hurt usually tucked away in the darkest crevices of his mind flowed into his voice. Emotions still so raw they tore at him, opening the wound in his heart. Let her hear it. Let her see. It would prove he was the person he claimed to be.

A hard sell.

She remained in place, gun held out in front of her, eyes as hard as the exposed steel beams around them. He noticed how her eyes were brown, and that whispy blonde tufts stuck out from her hat. A sliver of a pink scar painted her cheek like war paint. He’d had scars too. He’d had Trance remove those on the surface years ago.

What could he say to help? Nothing. She needed to take a leap of faith. He could not take it for her.

“Where’d you live?” she asked, jerking her chin towards the sky. Sure, that was the general direction of Earth.

“Boston.”

Something flickered in her eyes and the hardness around her lips softened. She aged backward, seven years falling away in an instant.

“The home of Brendan Lahey?” she asked, amazement seeping in. “Bunker Hill?”

He thought his pain to be absolute. Nothing else in relation to Earth could cut him again. But, hearing his cousin’s name out of the mouth of a stranger sent an icy knife through his heart. Earth’s destruction had robbed him of closure. Brendan was forever Schrodinger's cousin, both alive and dead in Harper’s mind.

“He was my cousin.” This time, his voice cracked. Brendan was born three weeks before him. A brother more than a cousin. He’d left him behind not once, but twice. Trance always said it took courage to start over again, to leave the life you knew behind and build a new one. But on his least forgiving days, he admitted he had run. Taken the cowardly path. Brendan had been brave and had died for that bravery.

The woman, or rather girl, frowned, eyes narrowing. She motioned behind their shoulders with her free hand.

“Tell commando Barbie back there to lower her weapon and I will lower mine.”

Oh boy. Doyle wouldn’t take it personally. He hoped.

“Doyle, holster it, and come up to us,” Beka said from behind. Doyle’s boots crunched in the rubble as she moved in behind him. He could feel her presence. Like Beka, someone safe. The girl followed Doyle’s progression with her eyes, weapon still extended, elbows stiff, arms tense. When Doyle was in place, she lowered it and took a few tentative steps forward.

Her boots had holes in them and were two sizes too big, he noticed. Grey fabric stuffing stuck out through the place where sole and boot had separated. Thankfully, the weather was brisk, not freezing. Spring had arrived, though in the ghetto it did not mean much. No pretty flowers blooming in here.

“What was your name again?” she asked, and he didn’t blame her for not processing it the first time. Adrenaline was one hell of a drug. Great for action. Not so great for thinking clearly.

“Seamus Zelazny Harper.”

A look of recognition crossed her face.

“All around the world, people are ready to rise up. In Paris, Tokyo, Singapore…” she began. His heart twisted again, tried to pull into an unnatural and painful shape. Tried to break into pieces. His words. Words that had started the rebellion that killed his cousin.

“Johannesburg. In the thousands. The hundreds of thousands. And they are all waiting,” he finished. “I didn’t know I was being recorded.”

“I thought you looked familiar. Your speech isn’t as well known as your cousin’s, but we know it here. Some of us.”

Her voice was sharp as steel. Fire blazed in her eyes. He knew she was resistance without a single word of confirmation passing between them. No doubt, her fire burned deep, flaring up at every injustice. He knew that look. Had seen it in his own eyes. Seen it in Brendan’s. This kid could not be broken, only made angrier. She would fight the chains wrapped around her and fight her oppressors until they took her life. In the end, they _would_ take it. Fire was too easily extinguished in a place like this.

“We’re here for something, but we can’t talk about it out here,” Beka said, stepping up now the risk of death had greatly diminished, giving him a welcome break from the tension.

“Let me tell the others we’re coming down. We would be honored to have Brendan Lahey’s cousin here.”

“Lange, does he live here?” he asked, not wanting to get sidetracked. She scanned their surroundings then gave a sharp nod, not confirming aloud. A safe plan.

“Wait here,” she said.

Something about her behavior nagged at him. Felt off. Like when you were forced to wear a pair of boots a tiny bit too small and they pinched your feet in all the wrong places. Uncomfortable, but not so much that you took them off because boots were expensive, and not easy to come by.

Or maybe it was just this place. It made his skin feel too tight like it belonged to someone else.

She disappeared behind the barrels. Silence fell around them and his mind puzzled over it, tried to figure out why it, too, felt wrong. Birds. The answer was birds. None chirped or cawed, nor flitted between the broken eaves. Even on Seefra there had been birds in the city. Dogs too, scrawny with ribs showing, scrounging around garbage heaps and door cracks. None here. Probably not a lot of vermin either.

The thought made his stomach roil. Probably should have warned Beka not to eat the local delicacies if offered. Even starving people showed a surprising amount of hospitality. They weren’t savages. Mama Harper raised him to make sure guests at least had a cup of clean water. Beka probably shouldn’t drink the ‘clean’ water, either.

Their host returned after a few tense moments. A grey and balding man in a tattered vest with a prominent square jaw and deep wrinkles chiseled into his cheeks followed. Harper’s hand hovered near his gun, just in case. The man ambled towards him, movements stiff. He was probably in his forties, but scarcity and hardship aged a body. No one was who they appeared to be in a place like this.

“It is you,” he said, voice filled with gravel. He stopped a few steps in front of Harper and Harper pulled unconsciously backward. Until this moment, he had not realized he had reached celebrity status, that any of his words had been heard outside that rooftop in Boston so many years ago. The side eye the Nietzschean welcoming part had given him on the landing pad made a bit more sense now, and it sent a chill down his spine. He glanced at Beka who raised her eyebrow. She had not expected it either.

“Uh, yeah. Seamus Harper. Nice to meet you.”

He felt the grimace on his face but had lost the ability to control his expression. He bobbed and twitched nervously under the man’s scrutiny, afraid he would see a stupid boy who started a fire and ran away before it burned him. Or, maybe, more afraid he would see a hero instead. Expect him to live up to a passionate lie formed under intense pressure.

“Come inside, we can’t talk out here. You never know what they will hear out in the open.” The discomfort returned as he watched the way the man carried himself. There was something hidden in the hunch of his shoulders, the redness around his eyes, and the way they darted around, jumping from one thing to the next like a caged animal searching for threats.

Harper looked to Beka who gave a sharp, military, nod. The man turned to lead them. Doyle’s hand fell on his shoulder, pressing down with light, reassuring, pressure. He followed behind Beka, allowing Doyle to take up the rear. The sooner they finished, the better.

  


********************

 

Someone, likely Maria Lange, had tried to make the basement dining room homey. Tried to make it a pleasant place to live. Some abstract artwork hung on the walls. The first bit of color she had seen since entering this godforsaken place. A reasonably clean beige cloth covered a table made of sheet metal and barrels. Someone had embroidered a few flowers at each corner of the cloth and Beka couldn’t take her eyes off of them. Little bits of color. Little bits of beauty. So out of place. And she thought she’d had it hard. Dust with a hint of mold tickled her nose, but the unpleasant fetor from outside was banished in this space, giving a moment of olfactory relief.

Maria motioned for them to sit on mismatched stools surrounding the table. Beka did, on edge, ready to jump. Doyle sat beside her. Harper did not. He stood nearby, shifting his weight from one foot to the other, eyes scanning everything. Beka could almost hear his mental inventory. Where were the exits? What could be used as a weapon? Was there anything of value? What did their hosts' possessions say about them?

Garrin and the girl, Olivia, Ollie for short, moved into the room and sat.

No one said a word. Another standoff, this time over sheet metal and fabric.

For her part, Maria looked harmless and pleasant. Like a grandmother though they were probably around the same age. Rosy cheeks. Wide blue eyes. Greying blonde hair pulled back into a bun at the nape of her neck. A picture resting on a roughly hewn wooden shelf showed a pretty young woman with a handsome young man. The years had not been kind to this pair. Another held six children, out in the sunshine, an ocean behind them. In the middle of the pack, next to another blonde-haired boy was a familiar face. Jace. They were in the right place.

“We share this space with three other families, but they are out now,” Maria said, breaking the tense silence. Beka noted the rough texture of her voice, the puffiness around her eyes, and hair-thin lines of red in the whites. Signs of tears. Garrin too had cried recently.

Next, Beka turned her attention to her companions. Doyle sat perfectly still, hands folded on her lap, back straight, chin up. Her lips were clamped so tight lines stretched out from their corners. If she were human, she would have a massive headache from the strain of knitting her brow so much. Normally a spitfire, it surprised Beka how shaken Doyle was.

Harper hadn’t stopped moving since they got there, though his feet remained planted on the ground. Fingers tapping, shoulders bobbing—a nervous caged animal ready to spring and run at a moment’s notice. This went beyond his typical jumpiness. He sensed something. A danger she did not. She was not one to ignore Harper sense.

“Would you like anything to drink, to eat? You must have walked pretty far. We don’t have much, but we do all right,” Maria asked.

Harper jumped forward, brandishing his bag like a shield. “It’s all right, we brought food and drink for you. We didn’t know if you’d be hungry or not, and I always found it easiest to talk on a full stomach.”

He dropped the bag on the table, shaking it. Ollie, looking like a child, all wide-eyed excitement, dug in, pulling out ready meals, protein bars, and water bags. The medical supplies, she tossed to the side, but Maria eyed them with interest and suspicion.

“Why would you bring all this for us? Where did you come from, Miss Valentine?” she asked. She had a right to be suspicious. Beka would have been, too.

“I’m the Captain of the Eureka Maru and first officer on the Andromeda Ascendant,” she said. Ollie’s mouth fell open and her parent's eyes widened.

“ _The_ Andromeda Ascendant?” Ollie asked in wonder, using a tone Beka generally associated with celebrity groupies. “The ship that single-handedly restarted the Commonwealth?”

Not just Harper’s reputation preceded them, apparently. Single-handedly was a bit of a stretch. The discovery of Terazed had added fuel to Dylan’s fire, bringing on a number of worlds that had been on the fence, making their fifty and some change into hundreds. But, she felt a flare of pride.

“That’s the one,” Harper said, overcoming his uncharacteristic shyness now that they were on the subject of his pride and joy. “And she’s a beauty, too. You’ve never seen anything like her.”

“I wish I _could_ see,” Ollie muttered, an adult level of bitterness in her voice, mingled with overwhelming sadness. Moisture collected at the rim of her eyes. She looked away, as if ashamed of her tears.

“That’s what I am here about,” Beka said. “A couple of weeks ago I was on a diplomatic mission to a Dragon ship. Let’s just say that things did not go to plan.”

For now, she left her role as Matriarch out of the conversation. There would be time for that later.

She stood and moved to the shelf containing the photographs. Their eyes followed her. She grabbed the photo of the children, surprised by the absence of dust around the frames, considering it clung to everything here. She carried it to Garrin and Maria.

“I left the ship before completing my mission, but I brought a boy with me.” Without touching the glass, she pointed to the picture of young Jace. Doyle passed over her comm with a picture of the now eleven-year-old boy pulled up, smiling before a tree on the Obs Deck, stars peeking through the viewport on one side. That smile had been hard to bring forth and harder to capture. “He calls himself Jace and he is about eleven-years-old. We think you are his only living relatives.”

Maria stared at Jace’s picture for a long moment, then looked up, eyes full of a mixture of sorrow and wonder. “He will be eleven next month. He’d barely turned eight when they killed his parents and took him from us. We thought he was dead,” she murmured, then looked down at the photograph again. “Out of all the children in this photo…”

She put the photograph down on the table and sobbed into her hands. Her husband wrapped an arm around her, his eyes on Beka. Hard. Angry. Some people dealt with news like this with grace, others with misplaced anger.

“So you came to bring him back here? You’d be better off putting him in an orphanage,” Garrin snapped, voice booming as it echoed off basement walls. “We don’t have the money to feed another mouth, and these provisions won’t last long. They’ll come back, take him away again, and next time he might not be lucky enough to find himself on a Dragon ship instead of the mines. You expect us to mourn him again?”

Perhaps a little too much anger. What was going on here?

Harper jumped in front of him. “Hey, back down. We didn’t come here to bring him back. Let her finish. I get it. I get the anger, but we aren’t the bad guys here.”

“Harper,” Beka warned. She clamped down on his arm, possibly a bit harder than she needed to, and tugged him back. His muscles coiled tightly under her hand, ready to spring. He had become a pressure tank building beyond capacity, seconds from exploding. Almost to the point where friends started to look like enemies, in fact. A dangerous place for Harper to be in. To his credit, though, he took a step back with no resistance.

“We wouldn’t bring Jace back here,” she said disarmingly. “We came to bring you to him. Take you off this rock. You are the only family he has left as far as we can tell. We represent the Commonwealth, and the Commonwealth believes in keeping children with their families if at all possible.”

That was the official line, at least, the line they used to justify this mission on paper. The truth was far more heartbreaking. Jace was traumatized. He seemed to be adjusting to life with his foster parent on Andromeda, but Ensign Smith also reported that he was afraid to do anything without express permission to do so, that he woke from nightmares multiple times a night, that he shied away from her attempts to make him more comfortable and would not even look up at non-humans—this Beka had seen in action when she tried to introduce Rhade as the man who was going to help her get his family out.  The only time he opened up was when asked about his family. He remembered his Aunt and Uncle fondly, and recalled growing up beside his cousins. The only chance Jace had at a normal life, at healing, was his family.

“You came to take us away?” Ollie asked, her brown eyes wide, hopeful—desperate.

“We would love to go and never look back. We’ve been trying to find a way out for almost a year now, but it’s been almost impossible,” Maria said between sniffles, though her eyes were dryer now. “But we can’t go anywhere now.” The last words were sharp, and directed at Ollie. Beka heard the undercurrent of anger in her voice, and saw the way Ollie shrank away, the way she did not meet her mother’s eyes.

They had walked in on some sort of domestic situation. The red eyes, the tension between family members, their overblown reactions. It was Doyle who puzzled it out first.

“Mr. and Mrs. Lange, where is your son?” she asked.

A pause, as if the world had stopped spinning for a moment, or someone had stopped time. Maria sobbed.

Ollie looked Beka in the eye and whispered, “They took him. Two days ago. I was out looking for news today when I saw you arrive. Those bastards took him right off the street outside. They took him to detention.”

The Dragons tortured their allies. _They tortured their allies._

Harper came forward again, his countenance softer. He moved around the table until he was in front of Ollie and crouched down so they were at eye level. One of those rare moments when Harper’s heart came out of its protective cage to rest on his sleeve. He saw something in Ollie.

“What happened?” he asked softly. “I saw some mechanical things over there. Are they your brother’s or yours?”

Tears welled up in the girl’s eyes. Beka stood back, giving Seamus the space he needed to work out what was rolling around in his brain.

“They are mine. I like to tinker. I can’t do much, but I am good with communications,” she explained. “I’ve been helping the Resistance since the revolt.”

Harper nodded, never once taking his eyes from Ollie’s. “Did they come for him because of your work with the Resistance?”

She shook her head. Tears leaked out of the corners of her eyes, creating shimmering clean streaks on dusty cheeks, falling from her chin in muddy drops. Beka glanced up at Ollie’s parents. Neither looked at their daughter, and neither reached out to comfort her.

“No. Though we have been trying to leave because they suspect, and they’ve increased raids the way they did with the war a few years ago. They took him for something stupider than that.” Her voice cracked as she spoke. “I made him a remote control toy. Jake and Jace were born a week apart and were like twins. He’s never been the same since Jace was taken. I just wanted to make him smile. It was a simple thing that used an old fashioned radio transmitter to make it fly around the room. He loved it so much that he wanted to show all his friends. I told him to leave it here.”

“And we told you not to make it in the first place. We told you what they would do to you if they found out, and now they have taken your brother,” Garrin snapped. Beka winced with Ollie, knowing how grief made you say things you might not otherwise. Hurtful things.

“How old are you?” Harper asked.

“Sixteen.”

Younger than Beka thought.

“It’s not your fault. I’m going to tell you a story, okay?” he asked, breaking eye contact for a moment to look at Beka and Doyle. When his eyes met hers they flashed and she saw how important this was to him. Saw that he wanted her to hear as much as Ollie.

“Okay.”

“A long time ago, on Earth, there was a thirteen-year-old boy who knew he was smarter than anyone in the whole world, including the Nietzscheans. His parents agreed. They told him stories about how at three-years-old when other children were learning to count, he was teaching himself multiplication.” Harper smiled here. “His parents secretly asked for textbooks, science kits, and anything else he needed from the relief ships that stopped by the ghetto. He couldn’t get enough. He wanted to see more and know more. He wanted to understand how everything worked. By the time he was thirteen, he could build almost anything. There was nothing left on Earth for him to learn, and his mom and dad knew they had to get him off the planet. But between Magog attacks and Nietzscheans, it was pretty much impossible.”

Beka looked over to Doyle who exchanged glances with her, telling Beka this was new to her as well. Garrin stood with his arms crossed over his chest, anger still etched into his features while Maria’s eyes were fixed on the photograph, but the stillness of her body and the slight forward lean of it, told Beka she was listening to every word. Probably putting herself in Harper’s mother’s position.

As selfish as he often was, he had never used his past to earn sympathy points, to convince anyone to give him a break, so he was telling this story now for a reason. It was important.

“There was one rule in their house. Never let anyone know. Well, this boy grew tired of hiding in the shadows. He knew he was different, that he was special. The Ubers spit on him, pushed him around, took his food, made him work for crumbs and table scraps. But he was smarter than every last one of them.

“Now, he was proud, but not stupid enough to do anything directly to the Ubers. He just wanted to feel like someone, for once. To have others beside his parents tell him how amazing he was. So, he showed off to his friends. Built them fun toys out of spare parts. Radios that could pull signals from around the world, remote control spacecraft, even energy based weapons to protect them from Magog raiders.

“One of the kids told his father. His father was a collaborator.” Harper stopped, gave himself a moment. When he spoke again, his tone had changed. It dripped with regret. “I should have known. He was too well fed and always had newer clothes than the rest of us. They came for me in the night, to the home I shared with my parents, aunts, uncles, and cousins. I can still hear them banging on the door, shouting. It shook the entire shack. The first home we’d ever lived in with just our family. The adults rushed us into a hiding spot built to be undetectable. I wish it had been soundproof too. They asked for me, demanded my parents turn me in. When they would not, they killed them, brutally. You see, they knew we were there, watching and listening, my cousins and me. They didn’t care about killing me. Smart or not, I was still a mule. They’d get me another day. They wanted to send me, and others like me, a message. Intelligence doesn’t make you special. It makes you a liability.”

Beka’s stomach twisted. Breakfast, though eaten hours ago, threatened to come back up, burning the back of her throat. Out of every horror she had seen here today, this is what got her, forced her to blink back tears. It had been easy to imagine clever Harper outsmarting everyone and somehow living better than this, above it. He didn’t let on the depth of his grief.

Harper looked directly at Garrin, a mask of anger twisting his normally jovial features.

“They were wrong.” He turned his attention back to Ollie and his expression softened. “It is your most valuable possession and you have every right to use it. You did nothing wrong, Ollie. The blame is on those bastards out there that took an eleven-year-old boy as punishment just because he was being a kid. You deserve better than this.”

Beka made up her mind. They were not leaving this planet without this family. Ollie was smart. Likely not Harper levels of smart—not many were—but she had a future in the stars, not here with her feet stuck in the mud. If that meant Beka wielded her power just a little bit more, so be it.

Rhade was going to have kittens, but he could deal with it. Or cry into his cup as he had been wont to do on Seefra. Either option worked for her as long as she got what she wanted.

“Ollie, do you know where they are keeping your brother?”

Maria made a little strangled sound and looked up from the photograph, eyes full of hope, asking silently what Beka didn’t think she wanted to ask aloud.

“Yes. I even know the room number.”

“Good.” She turned towards Ollie’s parents. “Pack up anything you want to take with you, and be quick about it. Nothing more than you can carry. I hadn’t planned on a side mission, but we have one now, so that means you are going to need to leave a lot behind.”

“You want to take all of us with you? Are you insane?” Garrin asked. Beka decided then that he really was an unlikeable and bitter man. Probably couldn’t be blamed. Harper had been dangerous and feral when she got him. Still didn’t have any table manners. But, at least he’d had a lovable quality to him. Maybe some of the missing softness would return once he’d settled into a more comfortable life elsewhere. Though she suspected that at his age, the damage was done.

“Listen, Beka knows what she is doing, and she is just about the only person who can get your son back off this planet because the Dragons won’t touch her as long she’s got seven shiny warships backing her up,” Harper cut in, gesticulating wildly in his Harper way, mouth running at the speed of light, patience finally worn away. “I am willing to bet that Jake isn’t going to be in great condition by the time we get to him if they have taken him for interrogation. Doyle here is a pretty good medic, but she isn’t a miracle worker. We have one of those, but she is on the Andromeda Ascendant at least 24-Hours away if we can’t get them to rendezvous with us earlier. So, if you want to take the risk, go ahead and stay behind, wait for us to bust your kid out of the pokey and hope there is time enough to come back and get you. But if you want Jake to have the best chance possible, start moving, and for the love of God, stop talking before I make you.”

To Beka’s surprise, Garrin didn’t say another word, but got to work packing up.

  


********************

 

“Beka, are you insane?” Rhade asked, the second person to outwardly question Beka’s sanity in less than an hour. Doyle thought that, yes, Beka was a little bit insane, but in a good way. If they left that little boy down here in this… whatever the hell one was supposed to call it… she might never have forgiven Beka.

“Oh Rhade, it’s so sweet of you to worry about little old me, but they aren’t going to hurt me. Not so long as my big strong protector keeps his big strong warships’ weapons locked on their pretty little town.”

People stared at their group, large enough to be out of place. Observations led her to hypothesize that no one gathered in large groups. Too suspicious, she reckoned. Too much risk of being mistaken for a resistance cell. As if they would be stupid enough to meet openly and walk down the streets in broad daylight.

Harper explained before they touched down what to look for in collaborators and informants. She saw them everywhere now, watching with their greedy eyes, wondering how much cash turning them in would net. This whole place made her sick—nauseous. She didn’t even know it was possible for her to feel nausea before today. The part of her that wanted to feel everything humans felt warred with the part of her that never wanted to go through these physical sensations again. It was one thing to feel her emotions, and something completely different to physically react to them.

She kept her hand on her gun, finger on the trigger, ready to pull and shoot. She had watched nine planets disintegrate, one still populated. She’d stood on Command and faced down the root of all evil. None of that affected her the way this did.

People did this. Not gods. Not Ancient Vedrans with a crazy plan to stop a moving sun. Not minions of the darkness. People who bled red blood into the soil the same as the poor, starving, beaten, and imprisoned souls that surrounded her.

“Matriarch…”

“Don’t call me that. Just keep up until we get back. Capische? And if you can, get a courier to Dylan, we need the Andromeda to meet up with us a bit early. Tell them to prep Med Deck for a medical emergency, we’re probably going to need Trance if she is up to it. Make sure you say it isn’t one of us, no need to worry them unnecessarily.”

No need to worry Trance, she meant. The day was still young, though. Doyle hoped they wouldn't make a liar out of her.

“Whatever you say, my liege. Your wish is my command.” Sarcasm. Time with his family had not removed Rhade’s death wish. Beka grunted as she cut the Comm. Pity to the next person who had to deal with Beka after her scheduled check in with Rhade, who had been quick to point out that they were thirty minutes late.

“You know, he can just call me Captain. Or Beka. Beka would be nice,” she grumbled.

“Not to happy about the change in plans?” Doyle asked. Beka looked back at her and rolled her eyes.

“He’s got his bone blades in a twist, but he’ll get over it. He always does.”

“She’s working with Nietzscheans? Did he just call her Matriarch?” Garrin asked in a tone of disbelief, shooting a suspicious glare at Beka’s back. Why did she get stuck walking beside this idiot? A sudden, and surprising, need to defend Rhade’s honor hit her.

“Listen, you’re angry at the whole universe, and who can blame you after what you’ve been through, but you aren’t making any friends with your attitude. You don’t have to like us. You don’t have to trust us, but you would not have followed us out here if you didn’t believe we were your best chance of getting out of here. That Nietzschean is our friend, has been for years, and he is the reason you are going to get off this planet alive.” She emphasized, friend. Let that sink in. Even in a drunken stupor, Rhade was more pleasant than this man.

Cowed, Garrin kept silent. Doyle checked her comm. Two more blocks to the detention center.

They completed the journey in irritated silence, boots squelching in the muck and mud that Doyle tried hard not to contemplate, thanking her lucky stars Androids did not get sick the way humans did. If Harper was correct about Jake’s condition—and no reason to doubt him—Trance’s miracles were going to needed, but even being around them after walking through this cesspit put her fledgling immune system at risk. She made note to scan everyone and disinfect everything before reaching Andromeda.

Detention turned out to be a large building backed into the ghetto side of the fence, a checkpoint beside it for the convenience of soldiers and informants. No need to delay important work collecting slaves and torturing the opposition. What the hell was wrong with these Nietzscheans?

“So, Harper, what’s the general procedure for getting someone out of detention?” Beka asked, shooting a look back at him. He was walking with neck stooped and eyes down, Ollie beside him, stance mirroring his right down to the hunch in their backs as if trying to make themselves invisible.

Harper looked up and shook his head.

“You don’t get people out of Detention. It’s where people are sent to…” he trailed off, sending a sidelong glance to Ollie. She skipped a step. A hand wiped furiously at her eyes, smudging the dust on her cheek until the brown streaks resembled war paints.

“Do you know how Nietzscheans get people out?” Beka’s tone took on a note of frustration. As much as she was known for flying off the cuff, Doyle got the impression she preferred to have at least faint outline of a plan to work from. Often quite faint. Almost invisible. But there.

“My guess is that they walk up like they own the place and make demands? Seems to be the way they do everything else.”

“Well, as far as they are concerned, as long as they are playing along because of our ships up there, I am as good as Nietzschean.”

Beka, the picture of confidence. Confidence was good. Unless the scales tipped over to too much, and with Beka, who could tell?

Garrin blanched beside her. Seefra, with its mix of species and the Commonwealth’s interest in it, was going to come as a shock to this man and his family.

“Well, we’re going to have to figure it out soon. That guard is drawing his weapon,” Doyle said, her eyes able to pick out small details from much further away than her organic companions’. Maria, a few steps ahead of her, looked back, concern knitting her brow.

“Two can play at that game,” Beka said, grabbing out her pistol, eyes on the guard ahead. Doyle wondered how well the brass communicated with its underlings out here in this dump. Did they know not to shoot Beka? She sure as hell was acting like they did, like they would take her at her word that she was the Matriarch.

_Beka, be careful._

Following Beka’s lead, Doyle drew her weapon and so did Harper. His finger twitched near the trigger, arm quivering. Her breath hitched. How he had made her breathe so realistically, she did not know, but her breathing reacted to her feelings and her non-existent heart sped up. Danger loomed, tall and threatening before them, but the Nietzscheans were not the source.

Beka held her pistol down as she approached, one hand up to show she would not shoot if not provoked. The guard eyed her warily, unused to people having weapons out in view. From what Doyle understood, weapons weren’t allowed in the ghetto, especially gauss guns and smart bullets. But the manpower needed to police the law was astronomical. The occasional public example made of someone caught building or selling kept them hidden under folds of clothes, and other methods kept to populace scared enough prevent uprisings.

Doyle frowned. It was one thing to read about a place like this. To hear stories second hand, with the bad parts glossed over—because with all the horror he allowed in his description, Harper had never done it justice. Seeing it, smelling it, and feeling the grime build up on her skin... She had always imagined adults in his stories. Imagined Harper the way he was when she met him, full of bluster and confidence, a joke dancing on the tip of his tongue at every moment. A grown man with grown man coping mechanisms. There were _children_ here. Harper had been a _child_.

“I don’t want any trouble,” Beka said, stepping forward. “I am your Matriarch. If you don’t believe me, go ahead and take a second to make a call to your superiors. We’ll wait. You wouldn’t want to be personally responsible for calling down the wrath of seven warships, would you?

Without being told, she and Harper took defensive positions a couple meters behind Beka as she bluffed her way into the guard’s good graces, motioning to the family to stay back, under their protection. A quick look showed Ollie in front of her parents, gun hand tucked into the folds of her many tattered layers. Keeping the weapon hidden with the precariousness of her diplomatic immunity so apparent. Judging by her stance earlier, she knew how to use that gun and could hold her own in a fight. A sixteen-year-old warrior. Her parents were not, Doyle noted, both looking uncomfortable at the thought a conflict.

“We heard you were here, _Matriarch_ ,” he sneered. Blonde haired and buff in all the right places, he might have been attractive if his face weren’t quite so hard and his eyes didn’t flash with disdain looking at them.

“Well, good, we have that out of the way. We are here to take a family with us, and it seems that you have taken a member of that family with you. I intend to leave with everyone today.”

“You must be mistaken, we only have criminals here,” a redheaded man, smaller than the first, but no less physically fit for his stature laughed. Doyle kept her gaze shifting between the unfolding situation and Harper. His fingers tightened on the grip, knuckles white, eyes narrowed into slits. There was a fire inside of him and these men, this situation, were the bellows, making it burn hotter and wilder. A tiny spark, and it would spread, consuming him—threatening them all.

“I’m not in the mood for joking. In case you hadn’t noticed, it isn’t pleasant over here, and I am a little bit cranky from the gravity. So, be good little children and listen to Mommy. We are here for an eleven-year-old boy by the name of Jacob Lange. Surely we can agree that a child that age can’t possibly be a hardened criminal.”

“Human vermin,” the redhead muttered. Beka raised her pistol.

“Do you want to do this the easy way, or the hard way? If I have to do this the hard way, it’s going to be a bad time for everyone involved.”

There was fire in Beka too. Controlled fire. Dangerous, and directed towards the men before her. When people talked about walking in like you owned the place, Doyle wouldn’t be surprised if they referenced the behavior of one Beka Valentine, the very picture of overconfidence.

“I’m sure you will understand if we have to call our supervisor?”

“Go right ahead, I’ll wait.”

And wait they did. Feet shuffling in the mud, everyone tired of standing in one place, but afraid to move. At first, the larger man looked giddy. These Dragon brutes took pleasure in causing distress and pain, it seemed. Granted, she had not met many different prides on Seefra, but any normal person would find this disgusting, yet an entire society lived and breathed on the other side of the hedge as if this were normal. Natural. Not all Nietzscheans were like that. Rhade was a stuck up pig with a stick in his ass sometimes, but he would find this abhorrent.

After a few minutes, a few different comm conversations even her enhanced hearing could not pick up, his gleeful smile shifted to grim disappointment. The brass getting back to him. Beka’s claim was legitimate. Turn over the child or risk the deaths of the home guard and damage to the planet itself. The Dragons weren’t prepared to go to war with the Commonwealth, nor were they prepared to go to war with at least seven prides that recognized Beka as their leader.

“Your group can approach, weapons down,” the redhead called out, turning towards them. Beka motioned for them to lower their weapons, which they’d raised the moment Nietzschean attention turned on them again. For all her silent orders to them, Beka hesitated before holstering her gun. Steps came reluctantly, as well, body wound tight like a spring. Overconfidence did not equal stupidity. The Dragons were untrustworthy.

Doyle walked beside Harper, keeping the family behind them in the best position to protect them if needed. She looked to Garrin and Maria. Garrin whispered something to Maria, his disposition changing for a flash. Gentle. Kind. A man still in love with the woman he had married, who wanted the best for her. A glimpse at what this unpleasant person might have been like before the stonemill of life ground him down and reduced his kindness to chaff in the wind.

“This isn’t going to be good,” Harper said through gritted teeth when Beka reached the checkpoint, holding her identification and day pass up to officially confirm her identity.

“Nothing here is,” she replied with a sidelong glance. He held his jaw so tight she feared he would injure it. The protective part of her nagged at her to get him away. Choose flight before he chose fight. Impossible in the midst of a mission. She had no way to alert Beka.

“Don’t be stupid, Harper,” she said instead. His ‘ _who me_ ’ expression would have been a lot more convincing if his arms weren’t held stiffly by his side with hands balled into fists.

They were led through the checkpoint and a back door into a nondescript hall with numbered blue doors staggered on either side. Evens to the right, odds to the left. They followed the guard down a sterile hall with bright white lights lining the hall just beneath the ceiling. Their boots clicked on shining white tiles and not a single piece of art adorned flat white walls. They turned down another hall, practically identical, and Doyle hypothesized that every hall looked the same. Easier to disorient prisoners and make it harder for them to remember the ways in and out.

At the end of the next hall, they approached a set of double doors that took them into a lobby of sorts, or a control hub, with a pair of spotless glass doors where a perfectly manicured lawn sparkled in the sunlight outside. Her processing power rivaled Rommie’s. In many ways, Harper had tried to improve on his original design. Even so, the dichotomies here confused her, gave her a headache. Why had Harper given her the ability to feel headaches?

“Gaius, I am under orders to hand over a prisoner to the _Matriarch_ here. Make sure they feel welcome while I go to retrieve him.”

The Dragon meaning of hospitality, and hers did not coincide. Gaius, whose appearance was close enough to the large guard outside to place them in the same category of brute, gave them suspicious glares as they stood in the center of a room as white as every other they’d passed through, though lined with consoles and a security display that flashed images of people in cells, and larger groups in rooms filled over capacity. People of all ages. Their fate, she did not want to guess.

Doyle took the opportunity to move closer to Harper, standing so their sides almost brushed. A kind, calming presence, she hoped. At the very least she could block him if his mouth ran away with him, though she didn’t think they would have any issues shooting an innocent woman any more than they would shooting Harper. He was more fragile, though she would not tell him that to his face.

His eyes grazed hers before darting off again. Under the bright lights, no shadows took purchase, yet he scanned each corner as if expecting invisible enemies to tesseract out. A bit paranoid, but given Andromeda’s extensive records of battles past, perhaps not without reason.

A gasp and a cry drew their attention to Maria and Ollie. For a moment, Doyle was certain her processors has broken. Through the door the red headed guard came, a woman with bronzed skin and hair by his side. Between them, they dragged a child, close to unconscious, bruised and beaten. A variety of colorful curses shot into the air out of Beka’s mouth, mingling with Maria’s cries.

“What the hell is wrong with you. He’s a child!” Beka snapped as they dropped the boy in front of her. He crumpled to the ground, a boneless doll painted in shades of blue and green. Tears stung the corners of her eyes. Maria and Garrin rushed forward to their son. Ollie held back, frozen, wide eyes on the guards in disbelief. Still young enough and sheltered enough in this environment to be surprised at its cruelty.

 _They shouldn’t move him_ , she thought. Beka had years of experience in field injuries, could direct them, but the parents… could they remember in their fear for their child? She needed to get over there, take over, use her sensors to catalog his injuries and make a plan.

“There is your _prisoner_ Matriarch,” the redhead taunted. The woman beside him laughed. She actually laughed. Doyle did not have time for indignation. Beside her, Harper let out a feral growl. His gun came up, whirring to life. A glance at Beka showed that Beka needed her, but if she did not get Harper out of here right now…

She reached out and pushed his arm up the moment she saw his finger squeeze at the trigger. The bullet ricocheted off the ceiling, spraying them with plaster. Every head in the room turned their direction and guns came out all over. Beka’s glare might have been as deadly as a shot in the chest if Harper had been paying attention. Doyle caught her eyes, tried to convey that she had this, as she grabbed the gun from Harper, then took him by the arm and dragged him out the glass doors.

“What the hell are you doing?” she shouted once they were out of earshot. He fought her, wriggling and pulling with all his strength, employing every method short of hitting her to get free. She did not want to do this to him, but she wanted him dead even less.

“Let me go Doyle, or I’ll…”

“What? What will you do Harper? Shoot me? I’m trying to stop them from using you as a punching bag too.”

“She laughed,” he growled, “They beat that boy to a pulp and laughed about it.”

“And how will killing them make any difference except destroying Beka’s chances at freeing the rest of them, and getting yourself killed?”

“You don’t know anything Doyle, you didn’t live this. I am going to make them pay, every last one of them.”

It was as if he had transformed into someone else. A stranger wearing her friend’s face, contorting it in rage. Still, he fought against her grip, despite the futility of it. If he kept up, his arm was going to bruise.

He could be callous. She had seen him bury his conscience deep down inside when it proved a liability to survival, but this murderous rage was new. Now, he did not seem to care about survival, just about inflicting pain.

“Listen to yourself. Think Harper. Use that big brain of yours and think! You won’t hurt them. They weren’t even the ones who hurt Jake.”

“Doyle,” he said, his voice taking on a dangerous edge, “Let. Me. Go. They as good as hurt him, Every one of them would have if given the chance.”

“If I let you go, you are going to go in there and shoot those guards. Best case scenario, the Dragons take you and let the rest of us go. If your life means that little to you, and you are willing to be tortured and killed for a moment’s satisfaction, then go ahead,” she said. Her voice cracked. “But think about me, Harper. You created me. I have never known my life without you. If you die, you leave me alone in this Universe. _You_ are the closest thing I have to a family. And if that isn’t enough, Trance is expecting you to come back alive. Do you want Beka or me to explain to her that the Dragons arrested you and killed you? Hasn’t she lost enough already?”

Bringing Trance into this was a low blow. She’d seen them right before she left the Maru a day ago, knew that feelings ran deep between them, but she figured in the interest of saving his life, guilt was a viable weapon.

He stopped, shrinking as her words hit home. A part of him must have thought he was still alone in the Universe. Alone and unloved. He needed the reminder that hearts would break when he breathed his last breath.

His chest heaved as she struggled his catch his breath, cheeks blotchy and red, eyes watery. A frustrated growl escaped him as he deflated further, now using Doyle’s grip for support. He didn’t speak, she didn’t expect him to. She loosened her grip, satisfied he wasn’t going to run in and create more of a diplomatic disaster anymore.

“We all love you, Seamus. Let Beka do this. Help her bring about real change. If you kill those guards in there, you prove them right. If we walk out of here alive, save Jake, and start to unite the other Nietzscheans against the Dragons, you win. You, and Beka, and other humans.”

“That sounds like something Trance or Rommie would say.” He’d lost his fire, voice more tired and defeated than angry now.

She put her hands on his shoulders. “They are right. Now I need to go in there and stabilize Jake so we can get him to the Maru. Keep your head down and mouth shut, okay?”

He gave her a tired half smile and a nod. “Let’s just get the hell off this planet and somewhere that makes sense.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Phew. Back after NaNoWriMo and back to my every two-week posting schedule. Thanks for being patient, and also for reading this far. I am shocked and amazed at how much story has already been written, and how I have this planned out to the end.


	18. Study on Innocence

~~~~ “I come bearing gifts,” Dylan said as he stepped onto Med Deck, moving towards Trance, who was busy stacking boxes of medications into a hard sided black case. Another, smaller case, rested on the counter beside it, closed up tight, both sporting straps to make them more portable. He extended a mug to her. “It’s actually just coffee, but it’s prepared to your specifications, according to Andromeda.”

She watched his approach with tired eyes but offered him a small, almost shy, smile. Ever the polite one, even when they weren’t on speaking terms. Trance had requested this meeting, though, so perhaps hope prevailed.

Not speaking these last few days had been difficult for him. For months on Seefra, she’d been his only true companion with Andromeda too damaged to put together coherent sentences. However, it was important after what had amounted to a massive betrayal of trust to allow her the chance to come to him. If it had taken too long, he would have taken the initiative, but it hadn’t come to that, and he was grateful.

As he sidled in beside her, she reached out and took the coffee, giving an appreciative nod as she flipped the lid open, sniffed, then took a sip. “Thank you. I need it this morning. I woke early and couldn’t fall back to sleep.”

He studied the contents of the box. Flexis. Nanobot injectors. Petri-dishes of baby nanobots. Then said, “According to Rhade’s last message, even accounting for the communications delay, the Maru should be here within the hour.”

“I’ve prepped Med Deck. I am just collecting medical supplies for Jace’s family to take with them to Tarn Vedra, along with instructions on how to use them and how to propagate more nanos. After I get a better idea of their medical condition, I will add anything specific to their needs. It isn’t enough to last forever, but it should help them have a healthy start. I’ve also filled a box with seeds and growing instructions. If they are diligent and work hard, the seeds should yield enough for their family to eat come spring with some extra to sell at the market.”

No one had asked her to do any of this, yet here she was, thinking on the same wavelength as him. He hadn’t thought of seeds when wracking his brain for ways to make the Lange family’s transition easier. There were boxes of food supplies and an auto-chef waiting for Harper to install in their home but not the supplies to grow and sell their own food. His mind had gone to survival, hers to self-sufficiency.

It wasn’t their job to settle the Langes well, and they were placing them in a colony with the refugees from Seefra’s other eight planets, people who were not being given the start this family was and would not be accepting of them. At least, not at first. Seefrans did not trust outsiders. But, the entire senior staff had experienced the fun of being dropped off there with nothing, and it didn’t sit well to rescue this family from slavery only to throw them into more turmoil and abject poverty.

The idea behind Andromeda’s entire mission, his life’s work, was to make it so that everyone got a fair start in this Universe. But he would not live to see his dream realized. It would take more than a lifetime, and the Universe had granted him far too many of those already. These small gestures were a step towards his vision, but it frustrated him daily how little their goodwill spread. Even after five years awake on this side of time, the Universe of peace and light he remembered from childhood still seemed like yesterday. But, the Systems Commonwealth had been built over the span of a thousand years, even if it had taken less than one to destroy it. He needed patience. They had not restored peace in five years, but they’d made more than a few lives better along the way.

“You’ve been busy.” He didn’t press her for the reason she’d asked Rommie to reach out to him. He simply remained in her orbit, letting her take her time.

Under the smiles, her friendly demeanor ran a current of worry just visible in her eyes and the way she held herself. Rhade’s message had been cryptic and not clear on whether the danger had passed. She had reason to worry.

“It is my way. I do not do well with boredom as you might remember.” She winked. An uncomfortable energy wound around them adding a level of awkwardness to replace their usual comfort, but she was trying. So would he.

“I’m sure they will appreciate all of this.”

She placed a few more things in the suitcase and closed it, then slung it over her shoulder. “I hope so. This will be disorienting for them. It was for Jace, and a Dragon ship is a luxury compared to a slave planet. They won’t even have time to adjust before heading down to Tarn Vedra.” She motioned to the other box. “Do you think you can grab that one? It’s full of medications and is a little heavy for me.”

“I can do that.” In one quick motion, he picked it up and slung it over his shoulder. “Where are we heading?”

“To their quarters.” She picked up her coffee, took another sip, then indicated with her hand that she was ready to go.

“Rommie, Officer’s Quarters, please,” she commanded when they reached the lift and fell silent again. Instead of speaking, because no one wanted an awkward lift conversation, he took the time to study her. Twice in the last five years, she’d changed dramatically in appearance and behavior. This was the third change. Her hair was worn more simply now, clothing similar in style to the tunics she’d favorite on Seefra but designed more for comfort and ease of movement. She’d taken to wearing small sparkling trinkets and jewelry like when she was younger. Appearances were not the only blending of old Trance with new. In different moments, he saw the varying iterations of her personality show through. Absent the expectations and deceptions necessary in the past, and the need to stand strong with the knowledge she might have to sacrifice herself in the war against the Abyss, it was as if, for the first time, she had settled into her true self.

A semblance of confidence, missing even last week, now shone through in her movements and the ways she spoke. If she seemed tired, it was because she’d thrown herself back into work-life with force, finding more than enough to fill her days despite not being officially on duty. Beka and Andromeda’s advice had been sound. Though physically taxing, the work had been mentally beneficial. Yet, under it all, something beyond sadness lurked. Even now, a small frown defaulted to her lips and her eyes were unfocused, turned inside to a sea of concerns invisible to him.

When the lift stopped, she gave a small nod and exited into the corridor, moving with purpose. She expected him to follow, and he did. They passed by the quarters meant for senior staff and stopped before the first VIP room, the largest on the ship next to his.

Rommie and Trance had been busy, he saw when he stepped inside. The main sleeping area was now two distinct rooms separated by curtains. On one side, a double bed rested against the bulkheads and on the other, two single cots stood, covers neatly made, waiting to offer respite. Another partitioned off area in the living space, off to the side of the couch, held another cot, presumably to give the older sister some privacy. Not enough space for five, but he was certain they would want to stay together.

Fresh cut flowers adorned the nightstands, coffee table, and desk. The closet, open for now, held several sealed boxes of supplies and the clothing they’d already provided Jace hung in a neat row. When the family arrived, Andromeda would take their measurements and find clothing in storage to fit, tailoring items if needed. He didn’t need to look in the stasis box or small larder to know they were packed with a variety of snacks.

“Everything is ready,” he said, reaching out and straightening a vase that didn’t need it.

“I had Jace help me pick out the flowers this morning, I thought he should be included.”

“You’ve done great. This should help them settle in easier.”

He set his burden in the closet with the other supplies, and Trance placed hers beside it.

She stood there, back straight and hands folded in front of her, patient and waiting, giving nothing away. He preferred to give her the lead in their conversations. It hadn’t always been that way, but over the years he’d learned that Trance only ever divulged the exact amount she was willing to. Nothing more. Nothing less. That tactic would not work this morning, so it was back to the old playbook.

“Rommie said you wanted to talk when I had a chance. I have to say, I’m surprised.”

Her head and shoulders pivoted around so she faced him, but her gaze remained off to the side. “Yes.”

“What did you want to talk about?” He took a few steps back, then stopped, wanting to give her space, not to spook her or cause her to shut down before the conversation took off, but also cognizant that he should appear confident. A delicate balance. Diplomacy between warring factions was preferable to solving disputes among his senior staff—especially when the dispute was with him.

Her gaze followed him. She wrung her hands and with a large sigh that rolled her shoulders, she turned and approached, chin down. At an arm’s length away, she stopped and looked up, eyes not quite meeting his. “We are heading to Tarn Vedra to pick up Orlund for the Commonwealth award ceremony and to settle the Lange family,” she said, clasping her hands tightly in front of her now. “The others are being granted shore leave for the two days we will be there. I would like to take mine as well, the same as everyone else.”

The request caught him off guard. His focus on their conflict had caused him to miss what he should have anticipated, leaving him without an answer or well-reasoned argument. Trance required well-reasoned arguments.

A trip to Tarn Vedra, a society in flux and still Seefra in many ways, came with several risks and not just for Trance, physically too weak to defend herself and with an underdeveloped immune system. To all of them. Seefrans were an unpleasant group in the best of times and, while the influx of Commonwealth do-gooders brought many amenities to the various refugee settlements around the planet, it also brought with it people looking for power or ways to profit off the return of the Vedran homeworld. Treasure hunters, slavers, prophets, and vagabonds. From what he’d gathered, the entire planet had a touch of the wild west at the height of the gold rush to it, like the setting of an old-Earth style Western. No better cliche fit than that of a powder keg waiting for a spark.

When he did not answer, she finally met his eyes, hers holding conviction and stubbornness. “I have been working with the horticultural specialists sent from Xinti for two weeks now and a number of specimens from Hydroponics are being sent to them. I have several ideas on how they can utilize them in the restoration. It is more effective to impart the information in person, especially with Perseids. Plus, I have been on Andromeda without leave for almost three months and am going a little stir crazy.”

She was appealing to his sense of work ethic. Playing up her efforts in trying to restore the planet to its former glory. Pointing out,  circuitously , that High Guard officers were granted shore leave at least once every two months if their mission allowed. Ignoring concerns for her safety in the opening salvo. Also ignoring that for three weeks out of those months she’d been unconscious and unable to take leave. She was good at this.

“Seefra is not a safe place,” he said, stating the obvious, trying to think quickly.

She nodded. “Yes, I am aware of the dangers. I can still wield a forcelance with the same accuracy I could before and I am not nearly as defenseless as everyone thinks I am. As for my immune system, it will never mature if I spend all of my time in a controlled environment where I am never exposed to illnesses for it to fight off.”

She knew his arguments before he made them, proving that she hadn’t been relying strictly on her visions all these years. He shifted his weight. Held his ground, resisted the urge to reach out. If they were not on such unstable ground, he would put a hand on her shoulder because touch for him was a steadying thing--a connecting thing. Yet he didn’t know how it would be received when they hadn’t even addressed the chasm between them. Though figurative, it separated them as well as any physical obstacle.

He changed the subject mid-conversation, unable to continue, seeing now how impossible the two steps between them were to traverse.

“Are we going to address the centog in the room?” he asked, a pervasive weariness unconsciously seeping into his voice. This conversation would be a lot easier with a snifter of bourbon in front of him. Sometimes, he missed the days of professional distance.

She’d been looking up at him. Now her shoulders twisted and she looked away, shifting from one foot to the other, a frown pulling her lips down at the corners. A few breaths later she crossed the room to the double bed, wrinkling the bedding as she sat. Her legs, kicking restlessly, dangled a quarter meter off the ground and it was hard for him not to think of how small she was in stature, more so now after her illness, skin-tight leggings and dress doing nothing to hide the matchstick thinness of her limbs.

He took a seat beside her a comfortable distance away, resting his hands on the mattress at his sides.

When she met his eyes, she was still frowning. “I do not have the energy to stay angry with you anymore.” She shook her head. “And, I am not sure anger was the correct response to begin with, but I was so hurt, and so afraid. I understand why, and I have already told Harper not to worry about it. I cannot even argue against the need for those weapons. But, I will never be comfortable with them near me, and I can never wield one.”

An opening. A start. This hurt wouldn’t mend completely in one conversation, but they were sewing the sutures today and, in time, it would heal with the barest hint of a scar.

“I would not ask you to. Though people around you, myself included,  _ will  _ have access to them.”

Even Harper, he added silently, a hint of guilt at involving him in this mess lingering.

“I understand.” A sad smile. “Most of my people choose not to interfere in the lives of organics at all. Some spend most of their time as energy, bound to their celestial bodies, while others explore the Universe without interacting with sentient beings outside the Kith, and the majority populate several home worlds tucked away from the slipstream, enjoying life together where they cannot be found. Most are incredibly young. No one is older than me by age, though there are as many genetically engineered adults like those in the Nebula as there are children and adolescents. These people are innocent. They want nothing to do with the secrets and manipulations of the Nebula, and they are who I see when I think of the risk. Them. Not the Nebula. And I fear for them. I want to see the best in people—I want a future where everyone is happy.”

“You have always been that way, dreaming of a better future.” The words slipped out without a thought, his tone so certain, so full of the conviction of a lifelong friend; not someone who was supposed to have only known her for the space of a blink in her lifetime.

She didn’t miss the slip but didn’t press either. At least, not today. One day, he would disclose his dreams to her. One day, she would demand it. Not today.

She studied him for a breath, then her eyes lost focus as if she were gazing into a crystal ball, her past swirling around in the fog. “I suppose I have.”

He let the silence linger for a moment, then took a deep breath and let it out, buying a few seconds to formulate his thoughts into words, to neatly package his feelings so they would have the impact he wanted. “I am sorry for the way you found out. You were right, I should have told you sooner. It was a terrible shock that you didn’t deserve right when you were getting your feet under you again.”

A small, sad smile graced her lips. “Thank you.”

Two words. Not enough, but all he would get today. There would be more time for conversation later.

She stood and smoothed out the covers where she’d sat before crossing to a vase of blue flowers on the coffee table. Their small, heart shaped petals were white near the stem, growing darker until almost black around the edges, the petals wrapping around the stem in a tight spiral. Her fingers fluttered between the blossoms, rearranging them to her tastes. He recognized the bloom from Tarn Vedra; a common garden flower. She looked up as he stepped beside her.

“You know it?” she asked. “The talin sengreza?”

“It translates to ‘the impossible flower’ in Vedran. It grew in my mother’s garden.”

She smiled softly. “The area it originally grew was high in the northern desert, known for its harsh weather and its prickly, poisonous, vegetation. No one thought flowers grew there, at least none so delicate, until one day, a traveler pulled into a rocky outcropping to escape the sudden storms the area is also famous for and there, growing out of the cracks, in the dead of winter with temperatures below negative ten and shaded from the light, grew this beautiful blossom. As surprising as the find was, the true surprise came later on.” 

She pulled a flower from the vase, held it in her hand for a moment, then handed it to him.

“Botanists and scientists, seduced by its beauty and rarity, collected cuttings and seeds. Several attempts to grow it from seed failed. To thrive, the temperature, lighting, and soil had to be just right. Finally, one botanist figured out how to grow it in a lab and kept it well for half a year but, just as he was about to go public, disaster struck. A hurricane hit his coastal hometown and destroyed his lab and with it, he thought, the only surviving specimen. But, when they cleaned up the debris, they found it growing happily in its pot, unphased by the warmer temperatures and lack of sunlight.”

He held the blossom to his nose and breathed in its sweetness, relishing the memories of childhood it recalled, the sensation of lazy summer days laying in the garden, warmed by the sun. Her sun.

“The impossible flower is so named because to grow from seed it requires a specific, carefully maintained, environment. Over time, you can remove it from that environment and plant anywhere on the planet because it will adapt to almost any climate. At the time of the Fall, talin sangreza decorated gardens all over the Commonwealth, including the Andromeda Ascendant.”

“How did they know when the flower was ready for transplanting?” he asked.

A pair of eyebrows lifted, and she half shrugged. “Science now gives a specific window, but in the early days they just had to try it. If the flowers wilted, they brought them back inside and tried again later.”

“But they lost some of them, I’m sure.”

She smiled. “Not as many as you would think. They were well loved and well monitored.” Here, she winked, more herself again. Some of the awkwardness faded, allowing the comfort of a long friendship to soak back in like water into parched soil.

He hesitated, his gaze shifting to the vase, not sure what to say. She put a hand on his upper arm, squeezing gently and he turned to look at her again, shocked by the intensity of emotion shining in her dark eyes.

“I would like to feel my Sun, not just watch her through a viewport. I want to wake up to her light.”

The truth made more of an impact than anything else she’d said, though he understood that in the precarious first few moments of their meeting, she had not been comfortable enough to tell him. He could not deny her what she needed to mourn or the chance to make peace between her new life and old. Not out of fear. Not when he’d promised to give her room to live her life and make her mistakes, for better or worse.

“We will need to find you somewhere to stay, and some winter clothes,” he said. “They are predicting snow and the temperature in Seefra City is supposed to drop down to negative nine. You need to keep away from large crowds, and it would make me a lot more comfortable if you stayed near one of us at all times. Unfortunately, I have two days worth of meetings lined up with members of the provisional government and the governors of settlements on three different continents, so I can’t accompany you.”

A wide smile crossed her face, the smile of a child given an early Christmas present, despite the list of restrictions he was coming up with. Guess she did need to get out. There was a reason the Commonwealth mandated regular shore leave after all.

“Harper still keeps apartments near the bar and I know he plans on staying planetside to settle some management business at the Oasis. I am certain I can stay there and use Doyle’s bed and they can keep me company when I am not working. If that doesn’t work, I’m sure I can convince Beka to put up with the gravity for a while.”

She had an entire plan. Unlike her request, this didn’t take him by surprise. It was her way to anticipate both the course of events, and the behaviors of those around her, and nothing indicated the habit had gone with her visions.

“You’ve already thought of everything.”

“Much of it, yes.”

He smiled and held the flower back out to her. “We have two days on Tarn Vedra, and then the awards ceremony on Tarazed. When that is over, let’s discuss your official return to duty full time.”

Her smile grew. Time to put his promise to the test, to allow her to leave the confines of Andromeda, where she was safe and protected from harm, and see if she continued to thrive.

“Captain,” Andromeda said, interrupting the moment. Dylan turned to the nearest screen. Andromeda’s impassive face watched. Trance jumped beside him, pivoting in one quick movement.

“What is it, Rommie?”

“The Eureka Maru just exited slipstream, followed closely by Rhade’s ships. The Maru is requesting permission to dock. ETA fifteen minutes." Andromeda’s eyes shifted to Trance. “There are no casualties among our crew, but one child is badly hurt.” 

Trance released an audible sigh of relief.

“Permission granted. Tell Beka we will meet her in the hangar. Send in your bots with a bed and alert the medics that a patient is incoming and that Trance will be in command of the situation. We are on our way.”

He turned back towards Trance. She gave a curt nod and they were off, moving in time with one another, ready to face the latest crisis together.

 

*********************

 

The hangar doors slid open once atmosphere was restored. Trance slipped a medical mask with a heavy filter over her face, a precaution against illness she would not have bothered with before, and moved in. It was a relief no one on the crew was hurt, but still she worried, as if the doors might open to a new unforeseen disaster. A pair of bots rolled up beside her with a bed from Med Deck. She stopped at the bottom of the steps folding out from the Maru’s hatch, eyes glued to it, waiting in anxious anticipation.

As the only surgeon on board, she was the only one capable of caring for the complex injuries Rhade’s messages implied without several jumps to the nearest sufficiently advanced enough planet or drift. Still, it surprised her when Andromeda ordered her, at Dylan’s behest, to prep Med Deck and prepare to take command, the ban on her setting foot on Med Deck over in an instant. Her nurses would need to get used to her quickly, despite never meeting.

The hatch opened with a puff of steam. Doyle and Beka stepped out carrying a bundle of a person on a stretcher between them, one of the Maru’s blankets tucked around him, his size, so small, surprising her. Trance looked past her two friends, searching for the third, knowing the knot of worry in her stomach would not release until she saw him.

An older couple stepped down behind Doyle with matching frowns on drawn, haggard, faces. Their eyes darted around, visibly uncomfortable in these new surroundings. Mr and Mrs. Lange, she assumed. Next, a teenage girl and beside her—her heart jumped at the sight of him—Harper. One hand rested on the girl’s shoulder, the other gestured at their surroundings, a forced smile on his face. From where she stood, she was deaf to his words but knew he was talking about Andromeda, the ship he loved. 

The girl drank in the site of the hangar bay with wide eyes and a touch of amazement, though her hunched shoulders betrayed her worry. Her gaze fell on Trance and the worker droids beside her, mouth falling open, though whether the surprise was due to seeing robots or an alien woman, Trance could not tell. Harper saw where she was looking and said something with a flash of a true smile in Trance’s direction, which she returned uncertainly. The girl giggled, giving Trance one more look, before moving on to the next interesting thing.

“Follow me,” Trance commanded the bots and moved forward to meet Doyle and Beka halfway.

“Trance, his name is Jacob. He is badly hurt. I kept him alive, but…” Doyle started and then trailed off as they approached, her voice cracking. A weariness had settled into Doyle. The type of exhaustion that didn’t care whether she had a physical need for sleep.

“The Dragons beat him within an inch of his life,” Beka said. Venom dripped from her words. “He was awake for a while, but we gave him a neuro suppressant to keep him out. Easier on him that way.”

Easier on everyone else, too.

“Okay. Let’s not waste any time getting him to Med Deck,” she ordered. Doyle gave a sharp nod in the affirmative. Dylan pulled in beside the women to help transfer Jacob from stretcher to the bed. “On my count. One, two…”   


At three they lifted the sheet beneath the boy together and gently set him on the bed. Carefully, she pulled off the blanket, visually cataloguing his injuries. Not good. “Doyle, you can fill me in on the way. I know you are tired, but I need you. He’s seen your face already and will trust you more than me, and I would like at least one person in there who has worked with me before.”

Doyle gave her a strange look. “I am not capable of fatigue. Of course I can help.”

“Not all fatigue is physical,” she said but did not elaborate.

Harper and the girl stopped a few steps back, beside Jacob’s parents. Trance caught Jacob’s father studying her, distrust with a hint of hostility sparking when their eyes met. She didn’t let it faze her, as long as he didn’t interfere, she could ignore him.

“She’s the one who’s supposed to help Jacob? She can’t be out of her twenties and she’s not even—” he started.

“Human?” Harper cut him off, his tone annoyance bordering on anger, and Trance sensed that Harper’s patience was already running thin.

Dylan stepped in. “I’m Captain Hunt. This is Trance Gemini. She has been the Chief Medical Officer on this ship for five years and, in that time, has pulled off more miracles than I can count, so, trust me when I say, your son couldn’t be in better hands.”

Harper glared on. She shot him a look that said, take a few deep breaths, calm down, and think before you open your mouth again. This day was shaping out to be a long one, but she made a note to find him later, regardless. Then, she lifted the mask for just a moment, giving both Harper and Mr. Lange a better view of her face, hoping the latter would read her good intentions there.

“It’s alright, Harper,” she said, tempering the look that she had given him with a smile. Then she turned to Mr. Lange. “I understand that you have little reason to trust aliens and I am sure you’ve not had much exposure, but I promise I am a lot older than I look and I am well versed in human physiology. I will do everything in my power to help Jacob. I’ve pulled Beka and Harper through some tough scrapes with a lot less than what I have available here.”

She hoped she could physically keep her promise.

After replacing the respirator, she motioned for the bots to move out of the hangar bay and to the lift.

“If you will follow me, I am taking him to Med Deck so you know where it is. After, Rommie, the ship’s avatar, will show you to your quarters. You can ask the ship, Andromeda, for an update at any time and when your son is stable, Rommie will escort you back.”

Mr. Lange clenched his jaw together, as if biting back an argument. She understood he did not want to separate from his son, but she didn’t need the entire family hovering over her while she worked. She hadn’t minded in the past when it was her friends, but they knew how to help and when to stay out of the way.

As she moved past Harper, she reached out, gave his arm a pat and flashed him a comforting smile. “I will find you later.”

Harper nodded, face blank. She saw the toll the mission had taken on him in his tired eyes. He needed a friend right now, but she had work to do. Thankfully, as if on cue, Dylan and Beka moved in, removing one worry from her plate. At least he wouldn’t be alone.

“Come on, let’s go to the Conference Room. Rhade should be onboard by now. Rommie has gone to meet him and is directing him to come to us so the three of you can fill me in and then go get some rest,” Dylan said just before she entered the corridor, followed by the trio of family members.  
  


 

********************

 

“Rommie just sent in a smoothie for you. I can finish cauterizing and suturing this while you take a break,” Doyle said, informed, Trance guessed, through her interface with the AI. She didn’t know how long they’d been working, but had the vague impression of hours slipping by. The ache in her back and the throbbing behind her temples seemed to confirm her theory. 

She licked her lips, dry from Med Deck’s heavily filtered air and a touch of dehydration. Hunger pangs had not broken through her focus, but a hollowness in her gut said it had been too long since her light breakfast this morning and the half-finished mug of coffee. After a glance at the readout above Jacob’s head to confirm his condition remained stable, she begrudgingly admitted she needed to take a break before the doctor became the patient. Her body struggled to meet the demands of the task, but a child counted on her to remain strong, and she would not give in.

One of her medics needed to step away too, she observed. For a different reason.

“I’ll take five and come back. After, we need to double check organ function, close him up, and then work on the superficial wounds and scarring so he doesn’t carry the physical scars for the rest of his life. He doesn’t need that.”

“Aye,” Doyle replied without looking as she bent over Jacob with a laser cauterizer propped in her hand.

Trance turned her attention to a young woman with wild brown hair barely contained in a messy twist. “Elaine, take a moment. Doyle and Martin will continue without us.”

A pair of overwhelmed brown eyes, framed by escaped tendrils of hair, looked up from the pile of nano-injectors Trance had tasked her with overseeing and programming.

“Yes Ma’am,” she replied, unable to mask the hint of panic in her professional tone. 

Ensign Elaine Garcia, from Tarazed. Graduated salutatorian from the Academy medical program two years ago. Residency completed at a Perseid relief camp in the war torn Koen system. Specialization in field medicine and burn wounds. One of the first High Guard medics to do her residency off planet after Tarazed returned to the Known Worlds. Before Andromeda, she’d practiced general medicine at the military hospital in Tarazed’s capital, a comfortable position, Trance had gathered from reading her file. She’d been an obvious choice when selecting soldiers to send to the Andromeda before the Magog Worldship attacked. Andromeda chose Elaine and Martin to help today because both had previous exposure to battle trauma, but even the worst a battlefield could provide was poor preparation for this.

“Call me Trance,” she said for the second time since meeting Elaine, though she doubted it would stick. These young soldiers loved their Ma’ams, Lieutenants, and crisp, straight-backed salutes.

Trance found the smoothie on a counter a few meters away, placed conveniently by a stool. As usual, Andromeda had anticipated her needs and placed an injector filled with an anti-inflammatory painkiller next to the cup.

She winced when she sat, her back objecting to the change in position.

“Are you alright?” Elaine asked. Both medics had studied her, visually scanned her for outward signs of her convalescence or weakness. Living in a fishbowl was not an experience Trance recommended, but she didn’t blame them, trained as they were to care for the sick and injured. She would be no different.

Trance smiled as best she could. “I will be fine. No need to worry about me.” 

She pressed the injector to her neck, dropped it on the counter and grabbed the smoothie. No time to waste. She wanted to get back to Jacob as soon as possible. The metal cup chilled her palms. She drank without paying too much attention to the flavor—a mix of fruits, something green, and a hint of nuttiness. Nut butter, probably, for protein. Better than the shakes.

“I am more concerned about you,” she said a moment later. “This is really getting to you, isn’t it?”

Elaine slouched against the counter, giving up the pretense of military control at Trance’s words. She closed her eyes and shook her head.

“I have a nephew his age,” she admitted. “I’ve never seen anything like this before. I mean, I’ve patched up prisoners of war and healed children who’d run into land mines. Buried them even. But this…it’s like they hurt him in a way to cause the most damage and pain possible without killing him. Who does that? He’s just a kid.”

Anger twisted Trance’s stomach, rising from her middle to her heart where it squeezed like a vice.

“That is exactly what they did.” Her voice was hard. Angry. Control had been difficult in these last few hours. “I have seen many things, but rarely an adult in this condition, and never a child.”

“What makes the Drago Kazov do this? I’ve heard stories, but the prides on Terazed are artists, doctors, soldiers, leaders and make up the bulk of the Home Guard fleet. They are some of the best people the Commonwealth has to offer, but the prides out here are so different.”

Trance released her anger, brought herself back down to equilibrium.

“It all has to do with the traits each pride chooses to breed for: some choose physical attraction and strength; others daring and bravery; more still are like Tarazed’s prides and choose artistic ability and leadership skills. The Sabra Jaguar honor cunning, treachery, and intelligence over all else. The Dragons are different. They choose mates for their brute strength and ability to dominate,” she explained. Then with a heavy heart that understood far too well, she added, “Nature can only explain behavior so far, though. It is not an answer to their cruelty, but if a society teaches long enough that anyone weaker than them is inferior, it is not a huge leap to see those inferior beings as playthings, pets, or slaves. Once the belief becomes systemic, it creates the perfect nest for hatred and cruelty. Or worse, utter indifference to the suffering of others.”

“That’s...” Elaine whispered, eyes on Jacob once again.

Trance smiled sadly, her thoughts going to Dylan and Beka, to their shared vision of a better Universe, and how they’d already come so far from the early days when laughter had chased them out of conference rooms at the mere mention of rebuilding the Commonwealth. But not far enough. She brushed Elaine’s shoulder to get her attention. “If you want to make a difference, to help, you are in the right place.” She forced confidence to fill her voice, though deep inside she did not know how they would accomplish it, just that they must, and added, “We will put a stop to this. All of it.”

Elaine glanced over at Jacob again, and Trance saw how far away her thoughts were. Seven slips away on Terazed where her nephew hopefully played happily in the sunshine, free of the struggles Jacob would soon face. Trance could heal his physical wounds, erase the scars on his body, but could not touch those inflicted on his mind.

“Why don’t you call it a day? I’m relieving Martin of duty, too. Jacob's life is no longer in danger, and Doyle is more than capable of helping me finish.”

Elaine hesitated, the battle between her work ethic and desire to leave clear on her face. “Are you sure, Ma’am?”

Trance nodded, “Yes. Go meditate, get some rest, and maybe talk to your family if it will help. I can put in for time off tomorrow if you would like.”

“Thank you, Ma’am.”

Trance smiled and shook her head. “Trance, you can call me Trance.”

“Thank you… Trance,” Elaine replied, trying it on for size. Good enough. Elaine gave a short bow and headed out of the room. 

Trance drank down her smoothie quickly, taking only the time she needed to finish her drink before returning to work more focused and less lightheaded. She dismissed Martin, who did not argue, and turned her attention to Doyle’s sutures, each one neat and perfect. Another tear in a tiny organ perfectly sealed, another step towards putting this nightmare behind them.

“I think we are ready to close him up,” Trance said after she took a few moments to run through Jacob's vitals—everything working, with a bit of help.

“Okay,” Doyle replied, getting straight to work. 

Trance caught Doyle’s eyes, saw the haunted cast to them. Her medics weren’t the only ones affected. “I recommend you take the day off tomorrow.”

“Jacob will still need monitoring and someone will need to interface with his parents. No offense, but that should not be you. You’re exhausted already and need it more than I do,” Doyle said.

Trance sighed. She really was tired, and with a little more focus she would have remembered that, like Rommie, Doyle could be stubborn when she thought others perceived weakness in her.

She met Doyle’s eyes again for a brief moment, then grabbed a cell regenerator and started closing the large incision on Jacob's chest, moving slowly. The skin knitted together leaving a raised red scar where the cut had been. “Rommie can do it. Your processors need time to process. This is difficult for me emotionally, and I did not see what you saw.”

Doyle took a spray bottle with a salve containing anti-inflammatory medication with anti-infection nanobots and followed her progress. In a few hours, it would completely heal the incision. She sighed. “Did you ever go to Earth, I mean, after the Fall?”

“No, Earth was one of my brother’s spouses. We were close when we were younger, before the Nebula, and she knew my nature. When I had some time to myself after the Fall, before I was sent to Dylan and Beka, I tried to visit, but she would not let me set foot on Earth. Sol agreed with her and I could tell by the look in his eyes how bad it was.”

Doyle stopped moving for a moment. She looked up at Jacob's still face, then over to Trance who now focused her attention on her friend, sensing the need.

“How does someone live a life like that and come out unharmed psychologically?” she asked with a wrinkled brow and a deep frown. And Trance understood she was not just talking about Jacob, but also Garrin Lange and one Seamus Harper. Trance shook her head, a frown settling on her face as she thought of Harper and the challenge his emotions presented every time something reminded him of his childhood. She and Doyle would need to discuss this another day because it was too much to go into right now.

She shook her head and said simply in a tone discouraged further conversation, “You don’t.”

 

********************

 

“A little dark in here, don’t you think?” Trance asked cautiously as she stepped into the Maru’s galley. Harper lay on the bunk across from hers reading a flexi with only the running lights on. Her bunk, she saw, had been made up with fresh linens, either Beka’s work, or Rommie’s. He did not smile or greet her but said nothing to dissuade her from entering, either. The silence unnerved her, so unlike him, but she pressed on, exhausted and in need of rest.

She and Doyle had worked on Med Deck for a little over six hours, with few breaks, between Jacob’s arrival and when they reunited him with his parents, awake and smiling despite what he’d been through.  Everything ached, and she wanted to be off her feet because they’d chosen to compete with her back in in a painful tug-of-war, one where she lost every time. The pain distracted her, made her thoughts insubstantial and difficult to hold onto. She slipped into the berth and flopped onto her bunk, crossing her legs in front of her to yank off her boots, then stretched out her stocking-clad toes, wincing as her feet adjusted to their newfound freedom.

Next, she removed her slim tool belt and set it on the headboard, then moved on to her blood stained dress. At this, she sensed movement, and saw Harper out of the corner of her eye turn his head away politely, though she was wearing a camisole and leggings underneath and he’d never bothered to turn away before without an expectant raised eyebrow as a reminder. For a beat, she held the dress, unsure of whether she wanted to send it straight to the incinerator or through the laundry chute. Since the waste receptacle and laundry chute were both several steps away, she decided to discard it uncharacteristically on the deck beside her boots. Tidiness could wait until exhaustion no longer weighed her down.

“It’s safe now,” she said, giving him a small smile. He turned back, a sheepish look on his face.

“How’s Jake?” he asked, voice gravelly. He must have been sitting in silence for some time now, waiting for her, unless she was mistaken. Otherwise, he would be on his bunk or in his machine shop. He’d known she would come back here

“He is going to pull through. He’ll be on his feet in a day or two and fully recovered in a couple of weeks,” she explained. Then she smiled, remembering how Jake had stared at her with wide brown eyes and a hint of disbelief. “It was adorable. He asked me if I had fallen in a pile of glitter and when I told him it was just my skin, he asked if I was a fairy.”

Harper’s face shifted. Trance had given him something else to think about, to focus on. He shot her a teasing, flirtatious smile. “I’m not convinced you aren’t a fairy. He hasn’t seen your gardens yet.” Then he narrowed his eyes suspiciously. “Beautiful mythological creatures known for their secrecy, trickery, and connection with nature?”

His raised eyebrow held the question. She shifted under his gaze. She had almost forgotten rule number one of dealing with Harper: never underestimate him.

She shook her head. “Don’t look at me. I have no idea where the myth originated...” she started, trailed off, and then decided he already suspected and it was not worth hiding when he already knew so much, “...but I might know a few Avatars who may have thought it great fun to play tricks on medieval humans.”

One day, he would ask her about the naked purple goddess he’d seen in the All System’s University Library. One day, she might tell him. She hoped it would not be today. Even the Lambent Kith went through a rebellious teenage stage, and she was too tired to re-live the mistakes in hers.

“I’m glad he’s going to be alright,” Harper said after a beat, leaving his suspicions behind, choosing not to press. She knew this conversation was not over, merely delayed.

“Do you want to talk about the mission?” she asked.

“Not really. Another day?” He fidgeted again, fighting with thoughts and emotions he refused to share. She wished he would open up to her, though she understood it would take time. “New Burke was hard on Doyle.”

A subtle change in subject. A shifting of attention. Yet, there was a real concern there. A worry he needed to get off his chest.

“I spoke with her a little. It seems to me that she lost some of her innocence yesterday.”

Harper let out a harsh laugh. “Innocent is not a word I would ever associate with Doyle. You, maybe, if you weren’t so scary sometimes. But not Doyle.”

A small smile pulled at her lip. She leaned forward, catching his eyes. “Innocence comes in many forms, Seamus. Though I have seen much, I am quite young for my people, and you see innocence in my perceived age, and some of it in my nature. An AI is born an adult, fully mature, but with very little experience. There is innocence there, too. She needs time to process what she saw, but she will be fine.”

The same went for Harper. Once he’d had time to process, he would be okay, so long as they kept him from self-destructing.

Harper was going through a phase of rapid maturation himself whether he realized it or not. Hard as it was to admit after having lived so many years, so was she. She’d lost the luxury of believing the Universe would bend to her will. Instead, she stood alone watching it shape-shift around her, become something different; unfamiliar, and frightening. Hard not to grow when faced with such a change.

Harper fidgeted again, and her lips twitched. Perhaps not alone, or at least, not completely.

She shifted her weight to find a more comfortable position and winced again as her back objected, muscles seizing. She could not stop the grimace that contorted her face, nor the frustrated hiss that escaped with her breath. Her new body was so weak, so fragile, and so easily damaged. Strength did not come fast enough.

_ Patience _ .  _ You have time. _

Sometimes it seemed she had no time at all.

Concern creased the corners of Harper’s eyes, his attention now focused on her, flexi abandoned on the bed. “Are you okay? You were in Med Deck most of the day.”

Not wanting to add another concern to his already overloaded plate, she nodded and forced a tired smile. “I’m fine. It’s just a little backache.”

He stood and sat next to her a moment later. He smelled of soap. He’d scraped his skin clean with force by the look of it—left it raw and irritated. Did he feel he’d removed New Burke from his pores? Did she dare ask, or offer an ointment to cool the heat she could almost feel rising from the rough patches of red on his bare arms?

Without preamble and with no sign of his usual flirtations he said, “I can help, if you get your hair out of the way.”

A cluster of tiny bubbles, like those in the carbonated drinks Harper favored, formed in her stomach and rose to her heart, causing it to skip a beat, maybe two. A current of electricity formed in the space between her body and his. It flowed over her skin, the hairs lifting in response, and she was momentarily breathless. She wanted to, needed to, share this moment with him, yet she feared the intimacy, feared she might lose control. In this moment, she was drawn to him, to his energy, in a way she had not been to anyone in quite a long time.

He caught her hesitation and misinterpreted. 

“I won’t try anything. Honest. Scout’s honor.” 

A small part of her, the playful part, almost asked, why not? 

“You were never a scout,” she said instead. Without another word, she reached into a storage pocket and pulled out a long toothed comb. Eyes on his, she pulled her hair back behind her shoulders and twisted the mess of curls above her neck, using the comb to hold them in place. A few strands slipped, tickling her cheek. Harper reached out and brushed them back behind her ear, and she studied his face, unable to isolate a single dominant emotion there, so many presented themselves. She broke eye contact first, afraid of what he’d see in hers, and shifted so he was seated behind her.

The electricity flowed between them still.

His touch was tentative at first. Unsure. Like her, nervous. Perhaps he too sensed they were not the same as they were before, that their relationship had already transformed into a nebulous thing somewhere between friends and lovers. Changed in the early morning hours, in the wake of restless dreams and nightmares. This touch of his, this offering, was a building block in the foundation of a shared existence and soon, they would have no choice but to admit they were building such an existence together.

He started with her neck, fingers brushing her hairline, sending a pleasant shiver down her spine. She willed herself to breathe steadily, to give nothing away. His thumbs pressed into the muscles, pulling down on them and she sighed, leaning into his touch, shoulders dropping as tension bled from them, headache fading for the first time in hours. Her eyes closed, and the Universe shrank until there was only Harper, and her, and the warmth of his hands. The sound of her breath, his, and the scents of soap, flowers, and machine oil that permeated the air surrounding them.

The kneading slowed and shifted into caresses, gentle and slow. Touch for the sake of touch, to satisfy a need for humanity and intimacy in the face of the inhumane. Touch to communicate what she understood he could not communicate through words—a desperate desire for physical and emotional comfort. But it wasn’t hers to give. Not yet. They’d drawn the demarcation line in their battle of wills, yes, but not crossed it.

She wished he would say something. Give her an opening. Any other day, it might not have mattered, but in this moment, with his emotions so raw, it had to be him who took the first step, didn’t it?

Fingers traced the shape of her spine and goosebumps formed on her arms. His hands moved down her sides then strayed too low, brushing her hip bones, and her breath caught. He stopped, lifted his hands, sensing he’d crossed a boundary. They hovered just above the small of her back and she imagined she could still feel the heat of them through the thin fabric of her undershirt. She twisted around, opening her eyes to look at him, her chest tight and breath ragged.

He stared back, lips slightly parted. Was it his desire or hers tugging at her, doing its best to convince her to close the gap between their lips? A small movement. No effort. All pretenses would be over, then. This dance where one of them stepped forward, and the other stepped back, where they spun circles around each other, never quite meeting, would end. Everything would change. And was the change unwelcome? Unwanted?

Maybe it could be her that took the initiative, and maybe she had read the situation wrong, or maybe she was just making excuses for a mixture of hormones and a yearning to fill the emptiness in her heart. His touch reached deep inside and eased a bit of the loneliness there. Not all of it, because no one person could ever take the place of her Sun, but enough to feel at peace for a fleeting moment.

Was it wrong for either of them to seek comfort where they could find it?

Her body, it seemed, thought so. A yawn escaped though she tried to stifle it and the spell broke when she turned to cover her lips. A wave of intense sleepiness washed over her, the events of the day catching up now the adrenaline had time to dissipate and Harper had helped relax her muscles. He scooched back, still close, but far enough to make it clear the moment had passed. 

Perhaps it was for the best.

“It’s been a long day. You should sleep,” he said. The layers built into his tone held all the words left unsaid and his face showed a storm of conflicting emotions—disappointment, relief, barely repressed desire.

“You should, too,” she replied, knowing he had not slept well last night, if at all.

“Yeah, you’re probably right.” He stood. She fought to keep the disappointment off her face as he moved back to the opposite bunk. It might as well have been another galaxy. 

The ability to school her expression was one she took for granted, but it was becoming harder to hide her true feelings from him.

She knew love, yes. The all-encompassing sort that grew from the tiniest seed over time to enveloped her in its embrace. It was the kind of love she still held for Ione, who’d walked the path of life beside her since infancy. Desire, too, was familiar. Over the years, she’d left her fair share of lovers scattered throughout the cosmos. The Lambent Kith did not hold monogamy dear, and sex, to them, was a fun distraction as often as it was an expression of love.

What she felt for Harper hadn’t grown from duty or expectation, or from the understanding that if they were to spend a lifetime together, they might as well make the most of it. Nor was it simply desire, or the sole effect of raging hormones in her now organic body. Harper had been a stranger to her and had earned her love through friendship, humor, and just being Harper. It was as if that had changed everything, inspired passion and a rush of feelings so strong she hardly knew what to do with them. She thought he was amenable to the idea, and it scared her, because neither one of them had experience with this sort of thing, and neither one of them had anywhere else to go if things didn’t work out.

She shook those thoughts away and took a moment to calm her heart and meditate on her breathing until each breath came out slow and steady once more.

“Harper,” she said when she felt she could trust her voice and pulled a medication injector out of her belt. She tossed it to him when she had his attention. It flipped in the air between the bunks, and he caught it, reading its contents warily.

“What’s this?”

“A sleeping aid. I am taking one like it to help me sleep through the night and this one should keep your dreams at bay. I know it’s pretty early, but I probably won’t wake up before you are ready to go to bed. I’m not recommending a course of treatment or suggesting you should use it regularly, but after everything you saw down there, I thought you might welcome a restful, dreamless night.”

The injector flashed as Harper tapped it on his hand. She could not bring him actual peace, but she could offer him a single night’s respite from the demons that plagued him. She smiled encouragingly, and he returned hers with a nervous one of his own.

“Thanks,” he said and pocketed it. “Will it bother you if I keep reading over here, or should I find somewhere else?”

He did not want to be alone. She didn’t either.

“It won’t bother me at all, I could sleep through anything right now,” she replied as she pulled her hair loose, slipped under the covers, and pressed her head into her pillows without bothering to change. Sleep fogged her thoughts immediately, and she drifted into the grey of it, comforted by Harper’s presence nearby.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A huge thanks to Deejaymil for beta-ing for me. I appreciate your help and suggestions so so much.


	19. Gifts

“This place is so cool!”

Harper looked up at the sound of Ollie’s voice, surprised to hear it in his machine shop at 0600. She stood in the doorway, surveying the room, a hunger in her eyes that had nothing to do with food. She’d scrubbed the dirt of New Burke away and now looked her age with rosy cheeks and a dusting of freckles over her nose he hadn’t seen before. Gone, too, were the layers of tattered fabric that served as clothing planetside, replaced with a pair of high-waisted tan shorts and a simple long-sleeved black top. Not even twenty-four hours away and already a different person.

At Ollie’s appearance his anger swelled, not at her, but on remembering the pitiful condition they’d found her and her family in. Thanks to Trance’s sleep aid, the tide of anger was lower now than yesterday, his sea legs stronger and more able to hold their ground against the undertow. But even well rested after ten hours of uninterrupted sleep, it ebbed and flowed.

Last night, he’d resolved not to take the stupid medicine, because, dammit, he was  _ fine _ . She meant well, but he didn’t need the help. But Jake’s face haunted him, as did the laughter of the Nietzschean woman that accompanied it as she’d expressed joy at giving them back a broken doll instead of a child. Then, as if to remind him that the injustices of the past two days were just icing on the cake, his mind traveled further back, through hundreds of abuses at the hands of the Dragons, until he was thirteen and home again. In his ears rose his mother’s shouts, her cries of terror: Take your cousins and hide, don’t make a sound!

They’d come for him that night and they’d slit his parents’ throats because they wouldn’t turn him over.

It was his fault they’d died.

But he was just a kid, doing kid things. Not his fault. Theirs.

In the dim shadows of his bunk with the Maru’s symphony of mechanical sounds and the soft rustling of Trance’s blankets reminding him his mother’s screams were far removed from the life he lived now, he’d reached for the injector; ready to accept the peace sleep brought.

“Do your parents know you are up and about?” he asked, pulling himself into the present again. Her cynical father didn’t seem the type to want his daughter wandering the corridors of a strange starship alone. Garrin didn’t trust easily. Harper knew the type, a person who held onto his sanity through the illusion of control. The Universe beyond New Burke would come as a rude awakening.

“They haven’t left Med Deck so Jace and I spent the night alone. I asked the ship this morning if you or Beka were up and she was very nice, even gave me directions to get down here.” Ollie stepped further inside, eying his largest project, a model of Earth’s Bell X1, the first module to break the sound barrier. It stood unfinished; a seat and an engine inside a sleek metallic rib cage and after five years and dozens of battles, it didn’t shine as pretty as it used to, but it had held together. More or less. Much like him.

One day, he would finish it and feel the rush of speed and the press of gravity on his chest as it launched into the air on aerodynamics alone followed by the boom of it crashing through the sound barrier. No doubt Trance would scoff at the danger, imploring him to be careful, asking for the tenth time in her nagging way if he was certain of its safety. Funny how he assumed she would be there to witness his flight, his chance to immerse himself in a piece of Earth’s history—one of the first steps in humanity’s climb to the stars.

It didn’t hold Ollie’s interest. A mere trinket to a girl who’d spend a lifetime with her feet on the ground and no reason to believe they’d ever leave it. She moved on, peeking into baskets of parts, running her fingers lovingly over coppery spools of wire. “I’ve never seen so much tech in one place. It’s amazing, and the AI’s so much like a real person.”

“Andromeda  _ is _ a real person,” he said sternly, but not unkindly. There was so much she needed to learn. “I don’t think you should wander around without your parents’ permission,” he added.

Not that he didn’t want her there; he wanted to show her everything about Andromeda and all the places her natural inclination for mechanical things could take her. She was smart and would go far with the right training. A human child from a Dragon ghetto, and she could make her mark on history, like him. Where would he be today if his parents hadn’t encouraged him to tinker, to invent and build; if they hadn’t begged and borrowed to get him everything he needed to sate his never ending appetite for knowledge? He could provide that for her, or at least get her started. He just didn’t want to get on the wrong side of her father, who was a head taller than him with fists that looked like they’d met more than a few jaws in their days.

“Please,” she said, rolling her eyes, a pitch perfect exhibit of the sulking adolescent, “they don’t care about me right now.”

_ Don’t get involved. _

Too late. He’d invested in her future the moment he’d linked her story to his and decided that she was leaving New Burke with him, the rest be damned. Beka wasn’t the only one with an ill-timed and often inconvenient protective streak. “It’s more than them blaming you for Jake?”

She took a seat on the bed, crossing her legs in front of her, eyes trained on her hands. “They’re cowards.” The harshness of her tone surprised him. “When the revolution started, they talked big about joining in, about earning us our freedom. We were going to get off New Burke, find Jace, and live happily ever after. But as soon as things went south, they ran and hid, said they didn’t do anything with the Resistance and gave into the Ubers while the Dragons beat-up and killed our friends. They kept whispering about having our day in the sun, but they didn’t  _ do _ anything.”

So they’d survived.

If they hadn’t gone underground again, they might have left two children alone to fend for themselves. In his most melancholy moments, he wished his parents had done the same. But then, they wouldn’t have been the people who’d raised him, and he wouldn’t have become the person he was today. He too was guilty of survival. He certainly hadn’t stuck around Earth to die at the business end of a Dragon gauss pistol like his cousin and he could say it was because his fight on Andromeda was more important, but, the truth was, he was hung up on this living thing and wasn’t ready to let it go yet.

“Is that when you started running with the Resistance?” he asked, imagining a thirteen-year-old girl slinking around the hidden places of the ghetto. Out here, even in the harsh environment Beka had grown up in, thirteen was still a child. In the ghetto, kids grew up faster.

She nodded. “They gave up on Jace; said he had to be dead and we should move on like we did when our little sister died from pneumonia. Like we did when Jace’s brother Chris was killed right in front of us. He was ten and just trying to get something to eat. Like we did when the Dragons dragged my Aunt Chrissy and my cousin away in the middle of the night and took them to the mines. Aaron was only nine, what good can a nine-year-old do in a mine?”

So much for a young person to suffer. In her dark, silent nights, the ghosts of her lost loved ones probably appeared, the same as his. She’d never known a day of safety or stability and, because of that, she’d given up on her parents; her trust in their ability to protect her broken and shattered. A dangerous thing when mixed with teenaged bravado, fuel for the adolescent inclination to believe they knew more than anyone else.

Thirteen-year-old Harper had thought he’d known everything, too, and he longed for those days back. All grown up now, he’d seen that everything he understood about the Universe could change in an instant and that the Universe could take everything he cared about away just as fast. Life had forced him to admit that his brain, as big as it was, was not a super computer that held the answer to life, the Universe, and everything. A lesson learned the hard way.

“Your parents were trying to protect you,” he said, because he felt like he should. “But I get it.”

His words hadn’t been what she was looking for, and he sensed that she understood he couldn’t give her the answers she sought. She needed stability, to know where her life was going, to know she wasn’t wrong. There was no one onboard Andromeda who could give that to her.

“What are you working on?” she asked, moving beside him.

“A long shot, or finding a needle in a haystack, take your pick,” he answered. She rolled her eyes, and he wondered if he’d been so sassy as a kid.

He’d been worse.

“I see comm components in there, so it’s some sort of communications device, though I don’t see why you would need something different. I read some of Andromeda’s schematics last night because I was bored and I’ve never seen a communications relay like it.”

First, his kind of kid. Second, she wouldn’t have, not down on New Burke. He gave her a quick and dirty explanation of what he was doing, pleased that he didn’t have to stop and clarify too many things. Her eyes widened.

“You’re looking for people who got away from Earth?” Something in her tone made him focus all his attention on her.

“Do you know something?”

She shook her head. “Not directly, but The Resistance has a network of communication hubs on slave planets all over the place, right under the Dragon’s noses. We even talk with planets other prides control and orbital habitats that hate the Dragons as much as we do. Each cell knows of a few others, but not all of them, just in case.”

Standard practice. The old human adage of not holding all your eggs in one basket had been a guiding principle in resistance cells as long as people had needed resistance cells. The drifts were his best bet as they were outside the control of the Dragons and the Earthers might have made for one of these orbital habitats before moving on to a more permanent location. If he were to break through to one drift, they could put him in contact with the next, and he could follow the daisy chain to his answers. Paired with his device, they might discover exactly where the message originated from.

“Do you know which drifts your cell was in contact with?” he asked, trying hard not to give in to hope, and failing. It came out in his voice. A desperate thing. A need to reconnect with his people and to know for sure if he still had people at all.

She smiled brightly, and he saw in that moment she’d needed a reason to feel helpful instead of helpless.

“I do, also we have sent people off planet before and the first thing they do is leave the Milky Way far, far behind. If you get that running, I would point it towards the Triangulum galaxy; there are less Dragons there.”

She watched him, a look like longing on her face, raised brows asking him if she had helped. Awkwardly, he put a hand on her shoulder, not sure how to comfort a teenage girl. He hadn’t been great with them when he’d  _ been  _ a teen.

He thought about their trip to Tarn Vedra and all the changes he’d heard about, about Tarazed and the other member worlds sweeping in to reclaim the Vedran homeworld and restore it to its former glory, the planet now a symbol for their entire fledgling society. Everyone was holding their breath, believing that if the Vedrans returned, perhaps this dream of a restored Commonwealth wasn’t so far-fetched after all. And Andromeda was at the center of it all.

“We have a lot of pull on Tarn Vedra,” he said, not even bluffing, “I’m gonna see if I can pull strings and make sure you’ll always have a spot in the best schools, and I will personally make sure you have what you need to tinker and learn on your own.”

No matter what her parents said.

She gasped, mouth falling open. When she spoke, disbelief colored her words. “School?”

“Yeah, school. A place full of other smartypants kids where you can learn to use that brain of yours for good or evil.” He kept his tone light, joking, but this was important. Perhaps he was over-extending, but someone needed to give her a chance in this Universe, for all the kids who’d never got a chance at all.

Her face reflected the gravity of it. “I don’t know what to say.”

“You don’t have to say anything. Because of you, I might have a chance at finding my people. I had an old friend named Rev, kinda scary sometimes, but he always gave great advice, especially when you didn’t want it, and he’d say there’s a reason we found each other. Maybe that’s true.”

Andromeda appeared on the screen beside them. “Olivia, your parents are awake and looking for you. And Harper, you told me to remind you when breakfast was an hour away so you could clean up.”

Ollie pouted at Andromeda, looking every bit the teenager again, not thrilled about going back to her parents. Harper squeezed her shoulder again.

“Things will be easier when Jake’s better and you’re living on Tarn Vedra. They won’t be  _ easy _ , but you already know how to kick hard’s ass, don’t you?  Come on, I’ll walk you to Med Deck.”

 

********************

 

Trance flitted from place to place like a little bird, never lighting for more than a few seconds at a time, hands in constant motion as she stacked napkins, straightened plates, and fussed with pitchers of juice and water. Beka watched her with amusement, wondering if someone had replaced the half-caff coffee she drank with the high octane variety the rest of them imbibed. Curiosity getting the better of her, she reached for Trance’s mug and gave it a perfunctory sniff but it just smelled like coffee; or, rather a creamy, overly sweetened and artificially flavored abomination masquerading as coffee.

It was cute, if not curious, how much energy she was pouring into making breakfast perfect. Andromeda had handled the prep for their bi-weekly team meals for years and had picked right back up when Dylan re-instituted them post Seefra—one step closer to the crew they’d been before—but the moment they’d agreed to surprise Harper for his birthday, Trance had gotten a lot more involved.

Rhade raised an eyebrow. “She isn’t usually like this.”

Beka shook her head, “No, she’s not.”

It was becoming more obvious every day what was happening, and if Trance kept up like this, Beka suspected even Dylan might have a clue by the end of breakfast.

“Trance, calm down. We used to celebrate everyone’s birthday every year and no one once complained about the banner being crooked or the food not being arranged just right,” she said as Trance crossed the room again to straighten, for the fifth time, the shimmering birthday banner hung on the back wall.

Trance stopped, holding her hands in front of her, like a child caught going for the cookie jar, then nodded, turning to Beka. “You’re right.”

Still, she did not sit; instead, she hovered over the buffet where platters piled with eggs, bacon, and sausage sat accompanied by fresh fruits, roasted vegetables and tubers, pastries, and toast. All of it fresh and unsynthesized. Quite a treat for the humans and resident Nietzschean since traditionally farmed meat was for diplomatic events, and Trance rarely included meat when it was her turn to choose the meal. But she hadn’t been planning for herself.

Off to the side of everything a covered platter stood, a surprise for Harper that Trance kept guarded.

Beka couldn’t imagine what deficits Trance saw, as everything looked and smelled amazing, a celebratory feast fit to feed the Triumvirs. Her stomach growled at the mixture of food aromas, the smokiness of the bacon tickling her nose, making her mouth water and tempting her. She hoped Trance appreciated her self-control; this was Beka Valentine  _ not _ stuffing her face with bacon before anyone else arrived. She made herself think of the full-lipped, almost childlike, pout that would greet her were she to dash all of Trance’s hopes and dreams of a perfect breakfast by raiding the food early. She couldn’t do that to Trance. It’d been a long time since she’d seen her this excited about anything.

She chuckled to herself, shaking her head and pondering how odd it was that Trance, the former immortal avatar of a sun, could succumb to puppy love just the same as any human. Then again, was it so surprising? Trance often seemed the most human of them all.

Rhade raised an eyebrow at her and she shrugged him off. Not convinced, he leaned back with his eyes on Trance, as if settling in to watch a stage show, sensing there was something interesting to see here.

The door hissed. Dylan entered, flanked by Doyle and Rommie, the latter carrying a box of brightly wrapped gifts topped in ribbons and bows, taken from their hiding spot in the darkest recesses of Cargo Bay 13. In the past, Harper had been notorious for trying to find his birthday and Christmas gifts, though he’d said nothing about his birthday this year. After spending four-years in the Seefra system, Beka suspected they weren’t as important as they used to be. Maybe the return of celebrations would change that though it meant she’d have to suffer through yet another party. She didn’t have birthdays anymore—though Harper and Trance always ignored her proclamations—but she hated to think of Harper losing his youthful excitement, often so contagious and endearing.

Rommie looked over at everyone congregated around the table. “Harper is on his way down from quarters. He doesn’t suspect a thing.” She crossed over to Trance and, after receiving a nod in the affirmative, took a peek under the platter’s cover. Beka craned her neck to see, but wasn’t able to glimpse more than a hint of white.

“It’s perfect,” Trance said with a smile, and Rommie nodded. The three had been planning this for weeks now, and Harper deserved it. More than that, he needed it after everything he’d been through and, she hated to admit, how they’d treated him on Seefra.

She’d been angry—so angry—that he’d tried to forget the life they’d shared; that he hadn’t welcomed them back with open arms, instead pushing them away. Hurt, she’d responded in kind, fanning the flames. Now she understood how difficult it must have been to lose everyone and everything for three-years, hope of reuniting with the people he loved growing slimmer every day, until it depleted, forcing him to start over yet again, this time alone.

How long had it taken? A year? Two? No wonder he’d tried to drown out the memories. No wonder he’d tried to make it seem like he was fine on his own, resisting their attempts to reconnect. Thank God that nightmare was over now. They were together, and they wouldn’t leave each other alone in this Universe again; not if she had a choice in the matter.

Dylan turned to survey the room with a small smile then nodded to Rommie, Doyle, and Trance. “Great job ladies, everything looks wonderful. Thanks for organizing it.”

Trance beamed, skin somehow more radiant in her joy. She liked to feel useful, to help, to make people happy. How was it that they kept forgetting that about her? Beka remembered Trance in her first week on the Maru, ill-prepared for working on a starship, but so eager to please. She’d gone to bed with Trance bent over the galley table reading environmental systems manuals and woken to find her in the same position, hundreds of pages further. By the end of the week, Trance had asked Harper so many questions he’d begged Beka to drop her off on the nearest rock and find someone else, someone with experience, because Trance was  _ annoying _ . Almost six years later and Beka still thought that had been rich of Harper, who had no off switch or filter, to say.

The door hissed again and Harper stepped in and froze, first shock and then concern passing across his face.

“Did I forget someone’s birthday?” he asked, but didn’t pause for an answer. “It’s been four years for me, you can’t blame me for forgetting. Rommie, I thought we had a deal, you're supposed to remind me of birthdays a month in advance! I swear, I’ll get you a gift…” He trailed off, noticing for the first time everyone was staring at him with matching bemused expressions on their faces.

“What?” he asked.

Trance stepped towards him, a gentle smile on her face. “You did forget a birthday—yours, it seems. Four days from now? We’re just celebrating a few days early because the Commonwealth ceremony is the day before.”

Harper looked around as if he expected everyone to throw back their heads and laugh, like he’d just come for breakfast and was now the butt of an elaborate joke. “It’s not my birthday, is it?”

Beka realized then that he probably hadn’t celebrated his birthday on Seefra, and he’d faced so much in the last few months that adding another year onto his life was the last thing on his mind. It made sense now why he’d said nothing. She should have noticed sooner. She forced a wide smile onto her face.  “No joke, your birthday is this week and we have four years worth of celebrating to do, so get your ass in here.”

Trance reached him, grabbed him by the wrist, and pulled him into the room, smiling disarmingly. “Beka’s right, this is all for you.”

Beka’s eyes fell on the place where tanned skin met pale gold and she marveled at the casual ease in which Trance held him; how he didn’t pull away, allowing her to lead him, and how close their bodies were, with only a whisper of space between. Trance spoke to him in a voice soft enough that Beka could only catch two or three words at a time, her hand gesturing to the decorations and food. His embarrassment cycled down, the tension bleeding away from his shoulders, and soon he was smiling and joking, piling his plate full of food—More Harper than Harper had been in weeks.

Curiouser and curiouser.

With Harper’s plate filled, and Trance’s, too, the rest of them had free reign to fill theirs. She piled hers high and carried it back to the table, satisfied at the first bite of salty, smoky, bacon. Trance sat across from her, Harper beside her, because where else would he sit? What Beka had seen emerging a couple of weeks ago had shifted again, grown, changed to something else and she caught her attention drawn back to them over and over.

Conversation carried across the table. Words bouncing back and forth in a table tennis match of what is happening in your department, and can you believe Rommie grabbed two lancers by their jackets to break up a fight in the crew mess yesterday? Jokes and smiles. Laughter and a sense of something missing since Seefra—family. All this to the music of knives and forks scraping porcelain and the gentle clinking of crystal goblets on the glass tabletop.

Harper’s focus continued to stray to the woman beside him, as if the others there to celebrate another year of his life were of trifling importance, as if she were the only one in the room. His attempts at participation were valiant, and perhaps some missed his inattention, but she doubted it. In a crowded room, theirs was a party of two.

_ Walk softly if this is the path you going down, Seamus. _

Fascination and anxiety mingled together, the former amazed to watch something so significant unfolding; to see two people coming together despite everything; to see something she suspected might happen years ago when they both seemed so young and unburdened—but the latter reminded her that Harper didn’t do well with strings, that he ran from women’s rooms at the first sign of morning’s light, never going into an encounter with a woman expecting her to stick around. And Trance wasn’t going anywhere.

A bot cleared her empty plate. Doyle brought over his gifts. Harper flashed her a flirtatious smile and said something Beka couldn’t quite catch in the noise of the room that made Doyle blush and Trance giggle. How odd, Harper was laughing, joking, and flirting his way through breakfast and it seemed so out of place when it used to be his default state.

With childlike abandon, he tore into the gifts: from Rhade, wrapped in green, a case of craft brew from a brewery close to his family home on Terazed; from Dylan, a portable holographic gaming matrix Harper had begged him to get for Andromeda before Seefra. Now it was his to keep to himself or share with the crew.

As they looked on, ooing and ahing in the right places, Rhade leaned in so only she could hear. “I give it two weeks. I’m willing to bet on it.”

Beka gave him a sidelong glance and debated for a moment pretending she didn’t understand what he was talking about. Harper handed Trance an iridescent purple bow, the kind that resembled a flower made of ribbon, and she stuck it to her head, small tendrils of ribbon curling around her temple.

“Perfect,” Harper said, before reaching for Beka’s gift, a new heated coat to replace his old and battered one, just in time for their trip to Tarn Vedra. She believed in giving practical gifts and he seemed suitably impressed by the quality and style.

She leaned in toward Rhade after they’d exchanged thank yous and you’re welcomes. “We can’t make bets on our friends.”

Her tone wasn’t convincing.

Rhade shrugged. “Why not?”

Beka shot the pair another look. Trance was leaning over to read the titles off a set of flexis from Rommie, side pressed against him, another casual invasion of his bubble space, and it was as if they fit together and always had.

“Days,” she whispered, careful not to let her expression give her away. “Dinner at Cavanaugh’s says not even two weeks. With wine.”

“Deal.”

A slight, conspiratorial, nod stood in for the more conspicuous formality of a handshake.

Harper opened the last of the gifts and a bot came around to clear up the colorful mountain of paper and ribbons surrounding him. As Harper placed his loot back into the box, Trance stood, leaving his side for the first time since he’d arrived.

“Harper, I need to update my systems. Would you prefer to be 28-years-old or 32?” Rommie asked.

Harper gave her a confused look. “I’ve been around for a while Rom-doll and, last I checked, you don’t get a choice—the linear nature of time and all that jazz. You just get older every year.”

“This is true. But, according to my systems we were only in Seefra for a few minutes, and not for four years, so in this rare instance, you do get a choice.”

Harper’s brows pinched downward, and then he flashed a bright grin. “Might as well go with, 28. You’re always saying I’ll never grow up.”

Everyone laughed, and damn did it feel good to just laugh and joke and spend time together the way they used to. They’d been a spring pulled taut, ready to break for so long now, and somehow this felt like the point in which they bounced back, perhaps not as tightly coiled as they used to be, but she welcomed the release.

Trance came up beside Harper with the covered platter and slid it in front of him. On the surface, she seemed calm and collected, but her gaze shifted back and forth between Harper and the tray, a hint of nervousness in it, the uncertainty of someone who had poured her heart into a gift and feared, irrationally, he would not accept it. Her dark eyes finally rested on his face. “This is a part of my gift to you. There is more, but I could not bring the rest here.”

It seemed the significance of Trance’s gift settled around the room like a fog, stealing the very air so that silence fell and everyone held their breath waiting for Harper to lift the lid.

Underneath stood a tall cake frosted in white fluff and piled high in the center with strawberries glistening in a thick glaze. Delicate red scrollwork decorated the sides and thin sliced berries formed a ring around the base. A masterpiece. The new chefs had outdone themselves. And so, too, had Trance; her smile was contagious.

Harper stared in disbelief then his expression shifted, a wrinkled ‘v’ forming over the bridge of his nose, and for a moment, Beka was certain he would cry. He nodded, lips pressed together until they blanched, his adam’s apple bobbing as he swallowed his emotions. After a beat he pulled his lips into a thin smile weighed down with a thousand emotions. “Where did you get strawberries?”

His voice cracked, and he swallowed again, but he’d infused those few words with so much gratitude.

“I grew them in hydroponics. Doyle helped me order the plants while I was still on Med Deck. It gave me something to do, something that could help.”

No one else existed after that. He saw only Trance, and she focused wholly on him, her beautiful gift in front of them. Beka got the distinct impression from the shifting of bodies in chairs that she wasn’t the only one who felt they were intruding on an intensely intimate moment and no one dared to interrupt it, despite their discomfort.

“You remembered. I don’t know what to say. I mean… just… Thank you.”

Harper had no words, and that said everything.

Beka looked over to Rhade because she felt she had to look away, give them a quiet moment before someone found the strength to interrupt, and raised an eyebrow. He met her eyes, his thoughtful, and she as certain he was calculating exactly how much it would cost to wine and dine the Mother of all Nietzscheans at Cavanaugh’s.  
  


 

*************************

 

_ Won’t the reminder of home hurt? _

Doyle had asked a week ago as she dipped her hand into the Hydroponics Section 3 pond, shortly after Trance had stocked it with koi, their orange scales shimmering beneath the rippling water as they darted under pink lotus blossoms and bright green lily pads, everything lit from below. The result was stunning.

Trance had kneeled beside her, watching one fish with red down its back approach another and touch noses before shooting off the opposite direction, and explained that gaping wounds needed sutures to heal, and though sewing them was painful, it brought relief and reduced scars in the end. She had been so confident of her answer, but now the question haunted her as she waited just outside for Harper to appear. What if her gift did not bring comfort, only more pain?

She paced back and forth, filled with unreasonable anxieties, as she had been all day, and chided herself—she had plenty of worries in her bucket without adding unfounded ones on top of them. She could almost understand, now, why the Nebula forbade emotional attachment to organics, because this was  _ complicated _ and messy and all sorts of trouble with emotional highs and lows that made her think she was losing her mind and it had been that way for years if she were honest with herself. Yet, when she heard Harper’s footsteps, her stomach dipped like gravity had failed and a nervous excitement buzzed through her, bringing a smile to her face, making her surroundings seem a little brighter. She remembered how she’d loved being in love when she was younger. To the very young Trance, love had been beautiful and simple, but there’d been no risk in loving Ione.

When he rounded the corner, the brighter lights from the corridor created a halo around him, washing out the rest of the room, and gravity failed again. Every day it got worse it seemed, or better depending on her perspective in that moment—she wasn’t really sure anymore. 

She smiled larger to cover up the rush of emotion, but couldn’t stop herself from fidgeting in place, shoulders twisting, weight shifting from foot to foot as he approached. “You ready?”

He raised an eyebrow and smiled flirtatiously. “When a beautiful woman says she has a gift for me, who am I to say no?”

She winked and stretched out a hand. “Then I won’t keep you waiting.”

Without hesitation he took it—his palm dry and calloused, accustomed to working with harsh materials everyday—as if there were nothing more natural than her hand in his. They walked in silence, with only the constant thrum of hydroponics equipment and the steadily growing trickle of water, past a few rows of wide palm-like leaves and stumpy trees with bright red foliage and around a curve to the place where she’d brought a bit of Earth back to life. She stopped him on the edge of the special garden she’d spent hours tending over the last few weeks and held her breath, heart pounding in her chest, still clutching his hand tightly, the physical connection to the person she’d planted it for suddenly incredibly important. She knew the moment he realized what was before him not because he said anything, but by the way he squeezed her hand before letting go and stepping past the invisible line separating this garden from the rest of Hydroponics.

Her eyes followed his progress as he paused before a three-tiered rack sprouting a rainbow of flowers, his fingers brushing the petals of a red rose then flitting over the tiny white bells of the lily of the valley. They swayed back and forth, ringing silently in the wake of his attention. His feet carried him over to the raised bed she’d planted the strawberries in, and he stood before them for a moment saying nothing and not looking back to her before moving again, finding the apple trees and lemon trees, ferns and vines, each plant given an uncharacteristically silent and solemn treatment. Many he had never seen growing up, but they were his now.

When he approached the pond with a stone bench looking it over and a single candle burning beside it in a tall wrought iron candlestick, she stepped in, making her way to him. 

Though her steps were silent, he turned as she approached. She placed a hand on his shoulder, her eyes flitting to the candle. “My people believe there is no darkness in death, that the light will always touch you; an ancient belief that carried over from the universe before. The Vedrans, too, have a similar belief, and it is their custom to light a candle and keep it burning for lost loved ones.”

Harper looked up at the candle and then down to the pond where the fish made lazy circles their transparent fins, almost ethereal in the back-lit water, sweeping gracefully behind them. He stood silently watching them, shoulders hunched. So much silence these last two days, so many words locked up tight in the safe he kept tucked away in the back of his mind.

She let her hand drop, trailing down his arm until it broke contact, remaining a breath away from his hand, close enough that their fingers would brush if either of them stretched out. “This is your space, if you want it—a piece of home you can call your own; a place to remind you of the bright and beautiful and wonderful things about Earth.”

Harper’s embraces were always sudden and unexpected, usually thrown enthusiastically at the receiver whether or not they were ready. He gave his whole self into embraces the way he gave his whole self into everything. This one, too, took her by surprise not because she hadn’t expected it, but because of its tender and deliberate nature. He grabbed her hand, and as she turned to look he enveloped her in his arms. For a moment, she stood stiffly, unsure of what to do before instinct took over and she relaxed, wrapping her own arms around his back, holding him tightly, her cheek pressed against his, stubble scratching her skin.

“Thank you,” he whispered into her hair, but he hadn’t needed to say anything. The embrace itself communicated more than words ever could. She closed her eyes and let her mask fall. She didn’t wear as many these days, no more than she expected those around her wore, but it always remained firmly in place until she was alone. If anyone were to pass by now, there would be no question as to depth of her love for Harper, they’d be able to read it the lines of her face.

He pulled back, and she pulled her mask back into place. His eyes were moist, unshed tears collected in the corners of them, glinting in the light as if he too had taken the intimacy of the moment as a chance to let himself free of the constraints he normally placed on his emotions. He wouldn’t let them fall now, not where she could see. He never cried where others could comfort him.

She followed as his gaze traveled again, landing on the strawberries growing in their neat little rows. Many had sent out runners, covering the soil in what looked like straw. She’d picked the ripe berries this morning, but the plants still flowered and produced fruit, genetically engineered to yield fruit year-round as long as the conditions were right. He brought his attention back to her. “I swear this is the most amazing and thoughtful thing anyone has done for me since I was a kid.”

In a moment, his attention shifted again, somewhere beyond her. She had expected this. He’d never properly mourned the loss of Earth. She doubted he’d ever properly mourned anything in his entire life, packing each hurt away in a tattered box and stacking those boxes behind a wall of mud that crumbled with each passing storm, leaving him to pick up the pieces over and over again. This had been more than a gift of home, but a piece of the idealized Earth he sometimes spoke of with such love; a place where he might feel safe enough, free enough, to think about what he’d lost and heal.

She took his hands in hers and gave them a squeeze and smiled. “I will leave you alone for a while. A little boy on Med Deck could use a piece of cake, I think. See you at dinner?”

“Dinner, yeah,” he said, distracted.

She smiled again, leaned forward and kissed his cheek, then let his hands go with another gentle squeeze. As she stepped away, she spared one last glance at the candle's flame, so small in the cavernous hydroponics bay, but so full of meaning in her heart. When she passed the rack of flowers, she stretched her hand out to the lilies of the valley the way Harper had earlier, feeling their smooth petals brush against her skin, and set them swaying once more. For a moment she imagined the tiny blossoms were ringing like ceremonial bells—a song for the departed, a beautiful prayer for comfort and healing.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter is finally done after Christmas illnesses got in the way. I hope you enjoyed. Once again, thank you to Deejaymil for the beta job. You are amazing!


	20. Snow

Jake watched her with wide blue eyes, sitting on his bed in the bare-white room he now shared with Jace. The room wasn’t much to look at—two simple beds with black metal head and footboards covered in matching green quilts, two nightstands, a walk-in closet containing a few meager possessions, and an uncovered picture window that cool winter sunlight filtered through to cast shallow shadows on the plush gray carpet. A blank canvas. A new beginning on a new world. For two little boys, it seemed wrong. The places where children lived should be bright and fun, full of life and energy with color on the walls, artwork, and maybe flowers on the nightstand. A room could always be improved by the introduction of flowers.

Trance smiled and held out the pen-shaped medical scanner as he reached for it. A game she’d played with him yesterday during the two home visits she’d given. Smiling back, he ran it over himself, starting with his head the way she’d shown him and she turned the screen on her hand comm so he could see. “Did you sleep well last night? Not too much pain?”

“Yeah...” He fidgeted and turned to look out the window as he handed her back the scanner without looking at the results. They showed his body was healing on schedule, but Maria had spoken of nightmares, and Jace too sported puffy eyes with generous dark circles beneath: signs of interrupted sleep. Invisible wounds. Trance looked over the room again, eyes landing on Maria, silent in the doorway, clad in a simple pair of black slacks and a blue turtleneck sweater, gray hair pulled into a tight bun. Worried wrinkles stretched out from her eyes and pursed lips.

Bare walls and stuffy, heated air wouldn’t cut it today; they could all use a dose of sunshine and fresh air. The sun had been elusive yesterday, hiding behind clouds that stopped short at threatening freezing rain, but it was out in force today. She kept her gaze on Maria as she said, “If it is alright with Mom, would you like to go outside with your sister and cousin?”

Maria raised an eyebrow, casting a nervous glance out the bedroom window to the outline of a distant, snow-capped mountain range. “If you think it’s safe.”

Jake’s eyes widened, his eyebrows raised to his bangs, and he looked back and forth between his mother and Trance in quick succession, a smile tugging at his lips.

Trance winked when she caught his eye again. “I think if we bundle up, it will benefit everyone.”

The smile broke through and he turned to his mother. “Please, Mom, I wanna see. Ollie won’t shut up about everything.”

Maria stepped into the room, her worried frown changing into a loving smile, a look that said that, in this moment, she would give him anything he asked for. “Okay, for a little while.”

Trance packed up her medical kit as Maria moved to the closet. She stood when she finished. “I’ll go get ready myself.”

The open living space, sporting basic living room furniture and the same white and gray color scheme as the bedroom, was undecorated save for two framed photographs over the fireplace and a crate of toys and games nearby where the children had played last night. There weren’t any boxes to show a family had just moved in. They’d stashed everything away within minutes of arriving, the space much too large for their few possessions.

Out of the coat closet, she pulled her new knee-length, blue jacket. A white faux-fur lining with thread-thin heating coils woven throughout would keep her warm in temperatures much colder than the negative-five the weather panel beside the sliding glass door reported. As unpleasantly cold as it was outside, she welcomed the winter weather, a sign her sun was restoring traditional weather patterns.

She watched the backyard through the door as she tugged on her hat and gloves and slipped her feet into a pair of fur-lined black boots. Snow hadn’t fallen yet and the sun’s bright but cool rays still dominated, but every hour more clouds rolled in. Tonight it would snow, she could feel it.

Near a small greenhouse, no larger than a tool shed, Jace ran on the packed frozen ground, bundled up in winter wear so that she could see only his nose and forehead. He stopped and jumped up and down shouting, voice muffled through the glass, “Here, here, kick it over here!”

“I’m working on it. Cool your jets,” Ollie shouted back and kicked the ball in his general direction. It went wide and Harper dove for it, his boots kicking up wet soil and yellowed scrub grass. He went down on his hands and bottom, caking his gloves in mud, then popped back up again. It was too late. Jace had snagged the ball and was already halfway to his goal: an empty grey cargo box laid on its side. Two against one turned out to be poor odds for the self-proclaimed master of soccer. Jace scored as Harper wiped the mud onto his cargo pants, but there was already so much there that Trance found it hard to believe it did any good.

Jace jumped up and down, arms flailing above him. “Goooooooaaaaaaaaaaal!”

Ollie rushed in for a  high-five and their wide smiles and laughter filled her heart, serving as a reminder of the resilience of children. She turned at a rustling movement behind her. Garrin approached, shoulders hunched, pulling a pair of leather gloves off his hands.

He watched out the door beside her for a moment as he tucked one glove into the other, then removed a black-knitted cap from his head and set the gloves inside. He shoved both into the pocket of his jacket and took it off. When he spoke, his tone was kind, his words careful. “It’s been a long time since I’ve seen the kids play like that.”

“Children are amazing. They can find beauty when things are ugly and joy amid uncertainty; children are often tougher than we give them credit for, I can learn a lot from yours.”

He reached past her and hung his jacket in the coat closet then slipped his boots off by the door. He’d been out in the community looking for work this morning, not wasting time making sure he could provide for his family. Maria, too, had made inquiries, but had stayed at home today to make sure Jake had a parent on hand.

Icy blue eyes studied her and she was certain they didn’t miss much. Where they’d been filled with suspicion before, something different filled them today, something softer. “We always wanted more kids—when we were younger. We wanted to be surrounded by children, but New Burke wasn’t the place for it and, now, it’s too late.”

Outside, Harper was making a run for his goal, the kids chasing him, their happy screams unintelligible. At one point, Harper too had implied, veiled behind jokes about owning planets full of adoring women, that he wanted a large family like he’d grown up with. Though he was an only child, he’d had a lot of cousins. She didn’t know his stance on the matter now and didn’t know if she wanted to ask.

A frown turned her lips as she glanced at Garrin, then looked outside again. “There are other ways to build a family and I refuse to believe it is ever too late for dreams, even if you have to go about them differently.”

She shook her head to shake off the discomfort that settled on like rubber bands wrapped around her chest, the source of which she didn’t want to get into. She’d never had to consider her part in the futures of her friends before—or her role in Harper’s.  It hadn’t been in the plan, she was supposed to have returned to her people after they defeated the Abyss; return to them and lead. She had no choice now. For the first time in her life, the future loomed secretively in the shadows beyond her vision.

But, her future wasn’t the concern here. “The children’s home in Seefra City is looking for a handyman. I was just over there this morning speaking to the pediatrician on staff about taking over Jacob’s care since there isn’t a hospital to speak of yet. I do not think they can pay much, but they will pay.”

Garrin turned his full attention to her. “I’m sorry I treated you the way I did back on the ship. It’s not much of an excuse, but we were under a lot of stress and hadn’t slept in two days. Harper mentioned you’re recovering from a long illness and aren’t technically on duty, but you helped Jake without a second thought, and you keep helping us, even during your vacation time. We can’t ever repay you.”

She shrugged, shifting from foot to foot, wringing her gloved hands and glancing over her shoulder to see if Maria and Jake were on their way yet, but no one was there to rescue her from attention or praise right now. “I am a physician, it is what I do, I don't need any repayment, your gratitude is enough—it is our mission on Andromeda to help those who are in need. Your children will grow up on a world where they have a chance at a brighter future. They can do anything now, and that makes it all worth it.”

_ No matter how hard life is sometimes _ .

“It won’t be easy.”

“No, it won’t. It never is, but I have faith that you and Maria can adapt to life here, and even thrive. It does not look it now, but Tarn Vedra will be a beautiful world, a world of hope, and you will not be the only family who comes here to escape dire situations. Those who come will need people who understand. You can be the vanguard.”

He wrinkled his brow and looked at her the way people did when she made pronouncements about their character they didn’t agree with. She’d seen it plenty of times on Beka and Harper’s faces. Both found it difficult to see beyond their gritty pasts, lived mostly in the gray areas of the Universe, and believe themselves capable of greatness. But not every hero could be a Dylan Hunt, and not everyone destined for great things lived their life in full sight of the sun. Sometimes, the shadows shaped the hero, tempered him like steel in a forge. Sometimes, someone lost in darkness only needed to be shown the light. Despite Harper and Beka’s complaints, she thought Garrin might be one of those people. There was something inside of him, something in the steadfast way he cared for his family.

Then again, like flowers in a room, she believed everyone could be improved by the introduction of hope.

“I’m no leader.”

She shrugged and dismissed his proclamation. A certainty gripped her, as if she could see his path the way she had used to see possible futures. She tried to find her sun in the sky outside, but it was over the house, not visible from the window. “Perhaps not, perhaps in time, or perhaps one day you will have no choice.”

A shuffling of footsteps saved her from having to elaborate. They both turned as Jake and Maria approached, Jake hidden under layers of warm clothing the same as Jace, his cheeks rosy red as they peeked out between a knitted hat and fluffy blue scarf. Trance couldn’t help the giggle that escaped and beside her Garrin chuckled, the first sound of mirth she’d heard from him. The smile changed his face, softened the edges, and he looked more like the man in the photograph on the wall than the one who’d stepped off Beka’s ship three days ago.

“Think you’ve got enough clothes on?” he asked, voice still gruff.

Maria shot Garrin a sharp look that shushed him on the spot. “He needs to stay warm and it’s below freezing out there. He can’t run around like the other two.”

Father and son shared a look and Jake rolled his eyes. Trance pressed her lips together to keep her expression neutral despite laughter threatening to slip out. She’d never spent much time around human children before, much less a full family, and it was refreshing in a way she hadn’t expected.

With feigned seriousness and another smile at his son, Garrin waded further into the deep end, reminding Trance so much of Harper that she wondered, ridiculously, if pushing boundaries was a human male trait. “Well, he’ll be plenty warm in that getup.”

“Maybe we should go outside now. It is not very warm, but the sun is out and fresh air always helps,” she said diplomatically. She pushed open the sliding glass door and the icy air hit her like a wall. She stepped out, making room for the rest of the family, and fumbled around the inside of her sleeve to find her jacket’s on-switch, the movement awkward in gloves. In an instant, warmth enveloped her.

Jake moved beside her, blinking in the sunlight, eyes darting from one place to another as if trying to absorb everything in an instant. His first and only glimpse of Tarn Vedra had been yesterday in the grey early morning hours, the sun a slight pink glow on the horizon. Otherwise, he’d seen little more than what was visible from his bedroom window. “It’s so bright.”

Her heart ached as she looked to the sky, tracing the path of a mountain crow as it flew across high clouds that stretched across the blue canvas like spun sugar. Her sun was behind her, beginning its slow afternoon descent toward the horizon. She didn’t have to look or observe shadows on the ground to know where in the sky it rested, or where in relation to it she would find the faint outline of Ione’s moon. Just as she could sense the changing weather patterns. It was as if the tiniest thread of her connection to her sun, to this little solar system she loved so much, remained.

Perhaps it did. No one knew the ins and outs of her condition, but imagined or not, she clung to it.

“There are no buildings to block out the sun,” Maria explained, saving her from needing to say anything.

Ollie noticed them and bounded back towards the house with a shout, Jace following close behind. “Jake! You’re outside!”

“Ollie, Jace, how about you take Jake around and show him the yard? Slowly.” Maria said, with a look to Trance to make sure it was alright.

She gave her a nod and turned her attention to Jake. “A slow walk will be good for you.”

Ollie extended an arm to her brother and he took it. Jace pulled up on the other side and, together, they began a halted exploration of their new home. Harper watched the children go as he approached the porch, soccer ball tucked under his arm. Maria and Garrin took a seat on the top step. She eyed the mud covering him and he looked down and shrugged then tried in vain to wipe more of it off.

He gave up when he only smeared what was there around. “It’s about time for me to head back to the bar. I promised the girls we’d chat this afternoon about the future and I need to, uh, clean up a bit first.”

Sounded like he would rather see a back-drift dentist, but he’d scoffed at the idea of selling the place yesterday when she’d asked. He acted as if owning the bar had been a means to an end on Seefra, just a chance to make a stable income and keep his head above the water while they worked to restore Andromeda, but his actions said otherwise. It’d been a large part of his Seefran life the last year they’d been there. It’d been their headquarters planetside. He was a mudfoot—a planet dweller—through and through. While he loved Andromeda, she understood he needed to know he had a place to return where natural gravity pressed down on his body and soil dirtied his boots. Someplace with wide open skies, rainy days, and oceans to surf in. Tarn Vedra was the only other planet he’d ever called home, and the bar tied him to it.

She glanced at Garrin and Maria. “Will you be alright for a few minutes?”

Maria gave her an indulgent smile and a nod as if she were in on a secret, or Trance was a teenager trying to sneak a few moments alone with a boy.  _ You kids have fun _ , wink wink.

Harper remained oblivious.

She ignored Maria, just as she’d ignored Beka’s knowing looks yesterday and turned to Harper. “I’ll walk you out…” She wrinkled her nose at the state of his clothing and he stuck his tongue out, setting a wonderful example for the children. “Around the house, though, no need to track all that mud through it.”

Out of the corner of her eye, she caught Maria looking to Garrin with a raised eyebrow, the smile growing, and she wondered how many people beyond Maria, Garrin, Beka, Rhade, and Rommie had come to their own conclusions about her feelings for Harper. Surely only that small group. She often advised against lying to one’s self, but it was more comfortable to think her heart wasn’t on display for the Universe to see than to realize her deeply personal feelings weren’t as hidden as she thought they were.

She looked to the sky again toward Ione’s moon, a hint of sorrow and guilt plucking at her heartstrings.

_ Find someone _ .

She had found someone, but she’d lost Ione in the process. It wasn't supposed to work that way. Why had the Universe decided she must have one or the other when she had so much love to share?

But the Universe decided nothing. The Universe was an ever expanding result of choices, forever branching out, forever pushing people towards any number of destinies. Her choices had led her to this point. She had chosen the greater good over her desires and personal well-being. As her mother raised her to do.

“Sure you won’t come back with me?” Harper’s voice broke through her thoughts. He sounded worried. She blinked the brightness of the sky from her eyes and turned to look at him, catching his eyes, narrowed and partnered with a frown. She smiled. He had a streak of dried mud on his cheek, just beneath his eye.

“It’s only six clicks to the city and Doctor Janz has already agreed to take me back in his hoverpod. I will feel much better if I am here to brief him on Jacob’s condition when he performs his examination.” She gave his arm a pat as they rounded the front corner of the house to the front yard, complete with a white picket fence that had given Harper no end of amusement earlier. “You’re more likely to find trouble before I get back than I am.”

They rounded the corner and he tossed her a smile with two raised eyebrows, his patented innocent little boy look. “In two, maybe three, hours?”

“You have an alarming tendency to make people want to kill you just by opening your mouth. It worries me.” She laughed it off, but a seed of truth lay buried in her words.

With one hand, he tapped in the code to open the drop pod and with the other he grasped his heart, eyes wide and face twisted in feigned pain and mock consternation. Time with the children had improved his mood, but had taken a few pot-shots at his maturity, it seemed. “You wound me.”

She laughed, her eyebrows jumped, and she shook her head. He would never change, and she never wanted him to. “Just be careful.”

He saluted her as he climbed inside. “No problem, mon cherie.”

 

********************

 

Trance, it turned out, could still predict the future. Though, he would attest until his dying breath, which would hopefully not be today, that he’d not gone out to find trouble, it’d been waiting for him in the form of three drunk Nietzscheans with loud mouths and grabby hands that wouldn’t leave his serving girls alone. Admittedly, he may have overreacted a tiny bit. The Commonwealth had arrived and Seefra City now had law enforcement. He could have called them to deal with the situation, especially since he was both outnumbered and outsized. They would have been happy to help. If he’d been thinking just a little more clearly, he would have considered the potential damage to his body and property—both things he held dear—before he slammed his fist satisfyingly into Biceps like Barrels _ ’ _ jaw. He was willing to admit now that he really, really should have been using the thinking portion of his brain. But in Biceps’ face, he saw Jake’s torturer, the man who’d slit his mother’s throat, and perpetrators of a hundred crimes against his person and sanity. It’d felt so damn good to do something about it.

The pleasure had been short-lived.

He ducked out of the way as another fist came at him. Wasn’t Biceps’. He was currently engaged with a pair of brawny thugs that look like they power-lifted drop pods for a living and weren’t thrilled their drinks had been thrown in their faces. It wasn’t Vampire Fangs either, Biceps’ right-hand man. That left Shitty Tribal Tattoo, the smallest and meanest of the three. Harper’s side already sported three clean, deep cuts from Tattoo’s bone blades. It stung like hell and was getting blood everywhere.

Didn’t matter which one it was. They were bigger and tougher than him, but he was small and scrappy and had learned long ago how to use that to his advantage. He dove for Tattoo’s knees, slammed an elbow into his kneecap with a jolt of pain, and was off before Tattoo hit the ground.

But he was already tiring from the constant onslaught of a 3v1 with foes genetically modified and bred over centuries to be superior fighters. He stumbled and Vampire took advantage of the moment of weakness by sinking his fist into Harper’s stomach. Air evacuated his lungs with haste and bile rose to sting his throat. Harper swallowed it down. He had standards and didn’t want to lose his lunch in front of his employees. Though it would serve these assholes right if he puked all over their nice shiny black boots. A series of strangled coughs escaped as he tried to breathe and his legs buckled beneath him. His bones rattled when they hit the sealed cement floor.

There wasn’t much time to consider what had brought him to this point in his life, crumpled up on his own barroom floor, sticky, wet, and reeking of spilled alcohol. Vampire lifted him into the air by his shirt, its fabric cutting into his armpits, his legs kicking, trying desperately to make purchase on any part of Vampire’s body. Wasn’t much time to get comfortable there, either.

With surprising force, Vampire tossed him across the room. He flew past stunned patrons and frightened bartenders who were probably reconsidering employment at his reputable joint. Guess he needed to increase their benefits packages. Again.

Three realizations hit him the moment he crashed into one of the few tables still upright. First, the blinding rage that had compelled him to start this fight had diminished to just above his baseline undercurrent of anger and his rational brain was taking over, askance at the mess Angry Harper had gotten him into and concerned that Angry Harper had once again bitten off more than they could chew. Second, if he didn’t end this soon, someone would call the authorities and then he’d have to explain to Dylan, who’d spent the entirety of his shoreleave dealing with diplomats, why he’d decided to—once again—start a civil dispute planetside. Third, and most importantly, Trance would  _ not  _ be happy.

He rolled off the table as it collapsed beneath his weight and into the back of a chair. An audible crack reached his ears at the same time his side screamed out with a fiery, piercing pain. Another rib biting the dust. Better amend that to, Trance was going to be  _ really _ unhappy.

Staying on the ground was not an option as interesting as the new vantage point was. He bounded to his feet, grimacing as his now broken rib objected. Air filled his lungs too slowly or, at least, it seemed that way. He coughed again, a pathetic wheezing sound. Human bodies didn’t make great punching bags. His foot struck something that skittered away with a familiar clatter. He shot a quick glance in its direction. His gauss gun! Somehow, in all the excitement—the primal, anger-induced, desire to inflict physical harm—he’d forgotten the weapon holstered on his side, now on the ground and resting just out of reach.

As he stretched for it, stooped over like an old man in need of a cane, a pair of women’s boots attached to tight leather pants covering a very attractive bottom, kicked it. He watched it spin comically away from him as another pair of women’s boots blocked him from going after it, and he wondered if his life was just one giant cosmic joke at this point. A comedy of errors.

_ God hates me _ , he’d once told Trance.

She’d looked him over with those eyes of hers and without missing a beat replied,  _ Don’t take it personally. _

Hard not to when it seemed like God must be laughing at him.

After the second set of boots scuffled past, he dove for the gun, narrowly avoiding a tray hurled in his direction. He didn’t stop to see whether it was meant for him, or if he’d just been collateral damage. Bright white fire, like burning lithium, lit up his vision when he hit the ground. With a grunt, he reached out blindly and his fingers closed around the butt of the gun. Success!

He rose to his feet, schooling his expression into one of strength and control—at least that was the goal. No telling how close he’d gotten as the room kept tipping to the right while blood pounded in his ears, making it almost impossible to concentrate. He wished it would stand still, it was super inconvenient of it to keep spinning like that.

After a cursory glance showed no one in his immediate vicinity, he pointed the gun to the ceiling and fired. “That’s enough!”

His voice boomed in the now stunned silent room as plaster rained down around him, tickling his nose. The people he could see through the dust now that his vision had cleared watched him warily the way one might watch an escaped asylum patient. What a sight he must make, all bruised, bloodied, and covered in white plaster dust. A crazed figure with a gun. Hopefully that worked to his advantage; it wouldn’t be the first time he’d played the insanity card. He found Biceps in the crowd and leveled his gun at him.

“Out. Of. My. Bar.”

Vampire Fangs and Shitty Tribal Tattoo shifted cautiously toward their leader, moving like cornered wolves. Dangerous, but cowed for now. Fitting, since they were from the Lupin pride, as they’d kindly let him know moments before he’d bruised his knuckles on Biceps’ jaw. Their bravado had faded away. Behind their ‘tough guy’ expressions, they calculated their Nietzschean honor against the threat of bodily harm and death, and he was glad he made patrons check their firearms at the door. Good thinking Past Harper. Way to save Future Harper from himself.

“I’ll give you thirty seconds to get your asses out of here before I shoot.”

Biceps glared for a moment longer, muscles twitching, as if he were a windup toy with the key turned too tight. He growled and nodded to the other goons, taking a step forward, shoulders back, as if they hadn’t just lost face in a bar full of humans. He spat at Harper’s feet as he passed.

“Worthless Kludge.”

Harper’s fingers twitched at the trigger, depressed it halfway, but he let them go, glaring at their backs. Murder would be a lot harder to explain to the authorities, and a lot harder to hide from Dylan.

The room brightened for a moment, sunlight pouring in through the open door, highlighting the damage before the door closed on their Nietzschean backsides. Approximately thirty pairs of eyes fell on him and his cheeks heated. He holstered his gun, and it was like he’d given permission for everyone to breathe again.

Sore and angry, he didn’t want to deal with this anymore. He wanted to go back to his apartment, lick his wounds, and drown these feelings in the kind of moonshine that burned as it went down like the mature adult he was. “Everyone out, bar’s closed.”

A large group sped past him, a few bumping into him as they went, aggravating his injuries. A couple grumbled about spilled drinks, voices just enough above a whisper for him to hear. He un-holstered and twirled his gun, lifting an eyebrow. One by one, with narrowed eyes and shuffling steps, the rest of the patrons left. Probably lost some customers today, but there’d be more tomorrow. And the day after that.

His five bartenders, all here because they’d met earlier, stood huddled together behind the bar, staring with wide eyes.

He holstered his gun again and turned to them. “You guys okay?”

Ayla, the most outspoken of the girls and his manager, barely twenty-five with a personality like a tornado and a will to match it, spoke for them, a dark eyed glare focused on the doorway. She brushed her tight curls away from her forehead. “Yeah, we’re fine now that the trash has been taken out.”

A woman after his own heart.

He stepped closer, stopping in front of the smallest, shyest of his employees—the one Biceps had grabbed. She watched with small black eyes through a fringe of straight black hair hanging in her face. “What about you, Linn?”

He followed her gaze to his gun, and then back to his face again. She bit her lip. He’d hired her off the streets a month before Andromeda had gotten out of the Seefra system. He didn’t know her age for sure—likely too young to be working in a bar—but she’d been starving and looking for work, and he was a sucker for street kids. She lived with Ayla behind the bar.

“I’m okay.”

She didn’t look okay. None of them looked okay.

“Everyone take the rest of the day off, I’ll get people in here tomorrow to deal with the mess. I’ll even give you some extra to make up for tips until everything is sorted out.” Each word dragged on, blending into the next. The room flashed with his heartbeat and the throbbing of his side where his t-shirt stuck to him, glued with drying blood. In his professional opinion, he’d live, but he wasn’t in great shape.

Ayla stepped forward. “I don’t speak for the others, but I’ll stay and clean up as much as I can so we can open sooner, but, boss, you’re bleeding all over the floor and that crap is hard to clean, so maybe you should go do something about it?”

“Yeah, sure. Do something about blood,” he muttered, and left in a fog.

 

********************

  
Harper’s hand comm pressed hard into her palm as she clutched it in her fist so that her knuckles whitened from the strain. One step, one breath. Two steps, two breaths. Her stomach churned. There were people around her, outlined in the shadows cast by the setting sun, but she didn’t notice the details as she jogged through them, not bothering to apologize when she brushed shoulders and arms, their protests muffled to her ears.

There’d been blood on the floor and concern in Ayla’s eyes. Not much blood, but enough. Enough to kick her overactive imagination, fueled by years of caring for the sick and injured, into full gear. The problem with having been able to see limitless possible futures her entire life was that she had a large stockpile of horror, in vivid detail, for her imagination to pull from.

His apartment came into view, the building, a hasty job done up in plaster and corrugated metal, looked even more decrepit in the shadow of the larger, more modern buildings going up around it. It would probably be torn down soon and, though Harper might have something to say about it, good riddance. The less Seefra and more Tarn Vedra this world became, the happier she would be. She slowed as she approached, taking a few deep breaths so that by the time she reached the door of his corner unit she’d schooled her expression into something resembling calm despite the rapid thumping of her heart against her chest.

Inside, it was dark and dusty. His home didn’t resemble an apartment so much as a combination of a machine shop and laboratory. Mechanical things and screens sat stacked on shelves and makeshift tables, creating a labyrinth of metal and wire in the places most typical human homes would have couches and dining room tables. Though the apartment had round, porthole-like windows, he rarely opened them to allow natural light or fresh air into the place. It wasn’t that Harper hated sunshine or fresh air, it was more that he seemed to forget it existed beyond the walls of his domain.

“Harper?” she called as she passed through the hallway from the entrance into what was meant to be a living room. He didn’t answer, but she spotted him sitting on his bed in the small alcove that served as a bedroom, elbows on his knees, an amber tinted bottle of moonshine dangling from one hand and another, tipped on its side, empty by his foot. His gaze shifted upward, slow and lazy. He attempted a smile, but what she zeroed in on was the way his eyes avoided hers like they did when he was about tell a lie.

She held up her hand, revealing the hand comm inside and he stopped, eyes widening. “Don’t bother making up a story. I thought you were at the bar, so I went there first.” She tossed his hand comm to him and he caught it, glaring at it as if it had betrayed him. “Must have fallen off in the fight. I thought you were just busy when you didn’t answer my comm to say I was running late, but apparently, you were getting into trouble. Ayla and Linn are worried, I told them I’d make sure you were alright. Take off your shirt.”

He tried smiling again as she approached, turning up the charm to level ten. “Aren’t you going to buy me a drink first?”

“That joke is old and I’m not in the mood. Also, I’m pretty sure you have had more than enough to drink already.” She plucked the bottle out of his hand and turned her back to him before he could react, pushed a few mechanical bits and bobs out of the way, and dropped her medkit onto the improvised tabletop, setting the bottle next to it. “The fight was nearly two hours ago and you did not think to call me or seek medical attention?”

He wouldn’t have. Word might have gotten back to Dylan, and he didn’t want Dylan to know he’d been in a fight—especially with Nietzscheans.

“Trance, I—”

She grabbed the scanner and linked it with her comm for the second time today and rounded on him. He’d removed his shirt to reveal a torso marbled in blue, green, and yellow with a blood-soaked towel clinging to his right side. She hoped the empty bottle of alcohol had gone to disinfect whatever waited for her under that towel and not directly into his bloodstream. She winced, despite herself. “I should take you back up to Andromeda right now and get you to Med Deck, but I won’t.” Anger seeped into her voice. “What were you going to tell me? That you fell down some stairs? Maybe got hit by a hoverpod?”

He grimaced as she pulled back the cloth to reveal three weeping cuts surrounded by a centimeter of bright red, inflamed skin and crusty, dried blood, almost black now. The tiniest huff escaped as her lips curled. She’d had just about enough of Nietzschean brutality to last the rest of her life. She’d also had enough of Harper’s anger induced risk taking. Between this and the incident down on New Burke, he was forming a dangerous trend.

From the medkit, she pulled the sanitizing wand. “That hoverpod had an impressive set of bone blades; these cuts are infected already. What were you thinking, taking on three of them by yourself? Are you trying to get yourself killed?”

She began knitting the cuts together after injecting nanobots. No painkillers, though, not with the amount of alcohol in his system. His gaze searched out his bottle behind her, but she didn’t plan on giving it back tonight.

He remained silent.

“Harper, look at me, this cannot go on; we need to discuss medical interventions for your mental health before you start a fight you can’t walk away from. I do not want to bring this to Dylan, but I will if this keeps happening.”

He tensed, a dog getting ready to bite, or a snake coiling, preparing to spring. “Tell Dylan. Go ahead, you tell him everything already, why would this be any different?”

“Harper…” She drew out the last syllable, putting a warning in his name. He was testing—throwing things out there to see what hurt. If he kept up, his words would become sharp blades, meant to cut deep and cause lasting damage. At a professional level, she understood the pathology behind his actions, but her emotions reacted regardless.

She pressed her lips together and reached for the bruised skin. It was hot to the touch, and he hissed when she pressed down, feeling for what she suspected would be there. Only one broken rib from the feel of it. A scan confirmed: one broken, one bruised.

“Why are you getting in my face about this now, anyway? What do you care if I get in a bar fight? It’s not the first, it probably won’t be the last, and I remember a few times a pretty purple face was right there beside me.” His words sounded cold to her ears. Harsh. A sneer had set itself into his face, remolded it into a sculpture that looked like Harper but with a hard, ugly cast to it.

Her eye twitched and she breathed through her nose. He was baiting and she was falling for it. Beka once told her it was a sign of how strong their friendship was that they knew which buttons to push, that a few words spoken in anger could elicit such strong feelings. Only, back then, she’d backed down from fights. Not anymore. “I grew up, unlike you, and I think you are smart enough to figure out why I care so much now. Why don’t you use that big brain of yours?”

The coil released and she saw the bite coming a moment too late, leaving no time to bring up her emotional defenses.

“I’m not a pawn in one of your games. You can’t control me like you used to with all your riddles and masks and acting like a completely different person every couple of years. I can see through you now. It’s my life and  _ I _ have control of it.  _ I  _ do, no one else. I don’t dance on anyone’s puppet strings, not even yours.”

Her body tensed. Her voice was soft and slow when she spoke again, but she made sure the edge was clear. “You really need to stop and think about what you are saying right now before you say something you will regret.”

Despite his anger at her, despite everything inside telling her to get away, she kept working. The checklist kept her moving. There was a routine in healing: program nanobots; inject anti-inflammatory medication for his ribs; some antibiotics now to tackle the quick spreading infection; set and tape up the rib until the nanos could repair it.

“I don’t have to stop and think about anything. I can do what I want with my life, even get in fights, and it doesn’t matter what anyone else thinks. Not the goddamned Nietzscheans, not your evil, manipulative, planet-destroying people, not Dylan, or anyone else.”

Her breath hitched. She put down her tools and stood still, trying to stop her hands from shaking.

_ Disengage. Leave now. _

There was a time before she’d come back from the alternate universe when she would have run away rather than confront Harper, especially when he was like this. Last year, she would have, too, but she was a different person now, older and with all of her memories restored. She held the memories of a sun inside this weak body: the memory of how to burn. She lifted her chin, feeding the fusion reaction inside, letting it grow hotter and brighter.

Unlike Harper, she knew how to control her anger, how direct attacks where they would hurt most.

“Evil. So you’ve met many of the Lambent Kith? You know all about them? Because I watched humans grow from apes on Earth. I have seen the horrors humans are capable of: genocide; war; torture and slavery. Humans created bombs that can destroy entire systems. Humans created the Nietzschean race, or did you forget? You yourself are working on weapons to kill  _ my _ people. Do I get to judge your entire species by the actions of a few? The Nebula is forty-five people. There are billions of celestial bodies in all the galaxies.”

It wasn’t fair to bring up the weapons. She’d told him to drop it and had meant it. She was hurting too, and that hurt was driving her to dig up what should have remained buried. The logical part of her brain warned her—she was out of control, using her pain to fuel her fury, no different than Harper. She wasn’t immune to the urge to bring others down with her, but because the Nebula had trained her to manipulate emotions, it made her more dangerous.

_ Leave. Go, now, this will only get worse. _

Only, he wasn’t finished.

He jumped up, his face contorted in a snarl, brows pinched towards his nose in sharp angles, weight shifting from side to side, almost frenetic. His muscles quivered like excited atoms under a microscope. She took a step back, suddenly aware of how dangerous he could be when cornered and how much stronger he was than her.

_ He won’t hurt me. _

Was she so sure?

“I know enough about your people, Trance. I know what they did to Earth, what they were planning to do to the entire galaxy and I’m glad we’ll be able to kill them. They deserve it. I also know you think you’re better than humans because of who and what you are, but you aren’t any different. At least humans do their horrible things out in the open instead of manipulating you while pretending to be your friend. My life was just fine before you showed up and meddled in it, making all of us dance to your music like puppets. I’m done. I’m done with all this bullshit.”

His words hurt physically. They tore into her stomach, squeezed her heart so she was amazed it could still beat, and stole her breath away, leaving her head spinning and the room tilting to the side. It wasn’t the first time he’d thrown that particular attack at her, which meant a part of him still didn’t trust her. Everything they’d built over the last two months seemed to crumble around her, turning to dust at her feet.

And she couldn’t tell him he was wrong.

She recognized the panic attack this time and forced one deep breath, then another, keeping her silence while he seethed in front of her. She needed to control this, control herself, get away and take the medication Rommie had her carry. Neither of them could deal with a panic attack right now and she was vulnerable and alone here since Doyle had gone back up to Andromeda with Dylan this afternoon.

_ Get out. Go. _

Putting on a mask of strength, she stood straighter and stepped towards Harper, meeting his eyes. They were bits of ice, sharp and cold. Her voice was cold, too. “For someone as smart as you are, you say really dumb things when you are angry. I understand your anger and you have every right to it because the Universe has given you nothing but pain for so long, but I am not the one who ordered the destruction of Earth. I am not the one who hurt you and I want to help you more than anything, but you have to admit you need help. I have taken care of your injuries and I won’t stay here under attack any longer. Come find me when you come to your senses. I’ll have my comm with me.”

She turned her back to him again and left, but not before snagging his bottle. At least he’d have one fewer here to wreck himself on.

 

********************

 

The temperature had dropped since he’d entered his apartment, warmth having disappeared with the sun. The clouds had thickened and hidden the moon and stars. At least the sun had peeked through long enough for Trance to see. 

The last time he’d ventured out of doors at night, the streets had been dark and full of shadows and no one walked them without quick access to a weapon. Now they were lit, but he kept his hand on his gauss gun, anyway. The Commonwealth had arrived, bringing with them lights and civilization, but that did not mean that they had banished the shadows. Not in three months.

This made him feel worse, like the biggest idiot to ever live. Trance was out here alone in a place he wouldn’t traverse without a weapon strapped to his hip because he couldn’t keep his damned mouth shut. She had patched him up without informing Dylan or recording the incident in Andromeda’s logs and how had he repaid her? By shouting at her, insulting her people—because that wasn’t a sensitive subject at all—and implying he wished he’d never met her.

All because she cared whether he lived or died.

_ Way to go, Harper. _

At least he was using his brain now, two hours too late. If anything had happened to her because of his stupidity, the punishments Beka and Dylan would exact on him would pale compared to what he would do to himself. How could she ever trust him again if she felt he didn’t trust her?

It didn’t matter how she’d come into their lives, or why. All that mattered was the woman she was now. He wasn’t the same boy tinkering in the Maru’s engine room by day and drunkenly seducing women by night, and she wasn’t the same mysterious purple girl Beka had picked up on a backwater drift six-and-a-half years ago. He had no right to throw stones loaded with the sins of the past in his fragile glass house.

The whiskey he’d imbibed not even an hour before warmed his belly and cheeks but clouded his thoughts. He wandered the streets only half as aware of his surroundings as he should be, focused on Trance’s dot on his hand comm and trying to ignore the pain in his side where nanobots worked hard to knit his rib back together. He was surprised to find himself with the lights of the newly christened Seefra City behind him, boots collecting dust on the unpaved street beyond city limits.

He shivered and turned the heating element in his jacket on. The temperature was dropping fast. The weather report seemed to be spot on, though predicting the weather on Tarn Vedra as the climate reset itself was more an art than a science, he could smell snow in the crispness of the air.

She’d never taken off her jacket earlier, did she have her hat and gloves as well? She didn’t like the cold. He’d turned the temperature down a few degrees once while they’d worked out together and she’d been freezing.

_ You're a freaking idiot.  _

At some point, it had to sink in that  _ he _ was the reason he couldn’t have nice things. Right? After over thirty years, it wasn’t too late to learn?                                                                                                

He reached into the deep pockets of his jacket and pulled out a flashlight, adding another concern to his list. Away from the city, it was dark. She’d used to wear a belt that had contained emergency supplies, including a flashlight. Had she felt the need to carry them here on Tarn Vedra, tucked into her pockets? He didn’t even know if she had her forcelance with her.

Down the path, at the base of the Scans mountain range, a few lights twinkled: a Wayist colony. He remembered Trance mentioning it earlier. The Wayists, like everyone else, were taking advantage of the Gold Rush mentality and the chance to set up shop on what was once the Universe’s most powerful planet in hopes it would be again. Only, instead of money and treasure, the Wayists wished to hoard saved souls. She’d be there.

He hadn’t expected her to walk four kilometers, especially after such a long day of working with the Perseids, helping out at the Lange’s, and patching up his sorry ass. She’d gotten so much stronger in such a short time.

A snowflake landed on his nose, its frozen body melting there. First, just a few flakes kissed his face, then a silent flurry of white drifted around him, each snowflake catching the light and glowing against the dark night sky. The magic of the first snowfall. Tomorrow, a white blanket would lay over this path. He quickened his pace. Bostonians knew how quickly a path could become impassable once the powder built up in earnest.

As he moved, to keep his mind off his culpability in this situation, he let it wander. Back into the past. Snow had meant dangerously cold temperatures and death to many on the streets of Boston. It meant the start of never thawing out completely, walking around with numb hands and frozen noses.  But, to children, it also came with makeshift snowboards and sleds—with racing down hills, heads flung back, laughing as the white powder flew into the sky, landing on hats and jackets, initiating them into the world of winter. A momentary reprieve granted by nature that even the Dragons couldn’t take away.

_ Who can go the fastest? Can you make that jump Brendan? I bet I can! What, are you scared, scaredy cat? I’m not afraid of anything! _

How he wished he’d shown Brendan the stars, or taken him sledding on a real mountain, or swam with him in clean water, or taught him how to surf. He would give anything to have Brendan back, to share the wonders of his life with someone who shared his blood.

“So there’s this girl, Brendan,” he might say. Brendan would smile and laugh, patting him on the back.

“There’s always a girl, Seamus. What’s she like? A redhead?”   


He’d be taken aback. “Well… yes. She’s a redhead. But that’s not the point. It’s different this time. Stop laughing, I swear it is, but I messed up and I don’t know what to say to make things right.”

Brendan would smile and nod, face the picture of wisdom. He’d be able to see it  _ was  _ different. This wasn’t  little ‘l’ love. It was the big ‘L’ this time.

“If it’s that important, just talk to her and tell her you’re sorry. What’s so hard about that?”

Did Brendan have a girl back on Earth? A woman he’d been fighting for? Harper hadn’t thought to ask during the Bunker Hill revolution, but he bet he did. What woman wouldn’t have fallen for Brendan?

As he approached the Scans, the desert shifted into scrub forest. Snow already dusted the branches of the short, parched, trees that lined the path. The settlement glowed in front of him. He glanced at his comm. She was closer now, but still hadn’t moved, and he worried there was a reason. He could come up with a million reasons to worry, a million reason why he wasn’t supposed to have left her alone on this damn planet in the first place. How could he have been so stupid, so self-absorbed? She always ran from arguments so why would tonight have been any different?

He surveyed the settlement. A traditional setup; the path led to semi-permanent buildings built in a circular formation and hidden behind the buildings would be a central courtyard garden for community gatherings and prayer. A permanent building was under construction. Though still modest, it towered over the pop-up shelters. Off to the side of the path, a monk, features shadowed in the pale light emanating from a streetlamp nearby, sat on a wooden bench watching the road for those seeking The Way.

“Blessed be. Do you seek shelter? It’s a cold night,” the monk called out when he was close enough to hear, her voice welcoming. As much as he loved Rev Bem, religion had never appealed to him, though the Wayists had tried to bring peace to the people suffering on Earth, the birthplace of the Way. But their promises didn’t fill empty bellies and heal wounds. These colonies put him on edge, but Trance had always found them welcoming.

“Uh, hi. I’m just looking for someone, a woman. She’s hard to miss: long red hair, sparkling skin, drop dead gorgeous?”

Up close he found a dark-skinned woman near Beka’s age with a friendly wrinkle-lined face and twinkling eyes, her hair shaved down to the scalp. She wore traditional white robes, her medallion resting on her bosom, catching the light. She laughed a deep laugh that sounded like a timpani in a concert hall, and it made her seem safer, more inviting.

“There are many lost souls here. We have one who matches your description, but I don’t think she wants to be found. Still, even the lost can take respite within our walls.” She looked him over and nodded, a smile that seemed playful gracing her face. “Perhaps we simply aren’t the ones meant to guide her tonight.”

Did monks take classes on cryptic messages? How to Confuse Your Constituents 101?

_ Okay, crazy lady, just tell me where she is. _

“It’s kind of important I find her.”

“She was in the courtyard when I began my shift ten minutes ago. I suggested she take shelter inside the prayer tent to continue her meditations, but she didn’t seem inclined to do so. She hasn’t moved in an hour, though it wasn’t snowing earlier.”

Harper shot the woman a grateful smile and felt a little bad for calling her crazy, even inside his mind. “Thanks.”

She bowed to him and gestured to the opening between buildings that would take him into the courtyard. “Go in peace, wanderer.”

Yeah. Peace. She didn’t know the half of it.

Still, he entered the colony, and there Trance was, sitting on a bench with her gloved hands resting beside her, eyes focused on something beyond the clouds. A white knitted cap with flowers embroidered on it was pulled over her ears. 

He approached, boots crunching on gravel. The courtyard showed signs of becoming a beautiful garden one day, but right now it was a sorry sight: a small frozen pond surrounded by several benches and smattering of scrawny trees, branches bare for winter. He saw movement beneath the ice, a slight shimmer as light caught on scales—fish, like those in the pond Trance had created for him.

Trance didn’t move, but he sensed she knew he was there. An invitation, then. She’d told him to come find her when he got his head out of his ass—phrasing changed for emphasis. He hesitated, then took a seat beside her, but she didn’t acknowledge him. As much as he didn’t want to think about it, he had a hypothesis about what she saw in the starless sky.

“That’s where the moon would be right now if you could see it through the clouds, isn’t it?” he asked. She blinked, then turned. Her pupils were so large he almost couldn’t see her irises and her cheeks were redder than usual, her nose too, but she wasn’t shivering. 

“Yes.”

“You should be inside. It’s snowing and the temperature is dropping fast.”

She looked back to the sky.

“The winter moon on a clear night following the snowfall was always my favorite. There is a place on the small northern continent where sandy beaches run into a volcanic plateau. From the top, on one side you can watch the sun and moon rise over the ocean. On the other, you can watch them set behind a mountain range with nothing but unbroken plains between. The Vedrans held it sacred and built an observatory for meditation and reflection. It stood for thousands of years before the Fall. Under the winter moon, the plains shone in blue and silver, and through the snow grew a wildflower that reflected the light. It looked like red jewels sewn on shimmering silver blanket. It was so beautiful.”

“I wish I could have seen it.”

Tarn Vedra pre-Fall was an almost magical place to Earthers; a distant kingdom in a story that started with ‘Once upon a time’. Nothing Dylan or Trance ever said had dispelled the belief, their colorful descriptions only adding to its allure.

“I wish you could have, too.”

Something in her voice sounded off. His brain puzzled over it, while his mouth, on autopilot again, asked what he didn’t want to ask. How convenient of him to forget that she’d lost a husband along with her people.

“You miss him, Ione?”

She frowned, creasing the skin around her lips and wrinkling her forehead. “Of course I do.”

“I mean, I guess it would be kind of hard to get over losing your one true love.” He kicked himself. He liked digging holes, didn’t he? Seamus Harper, professional ditch digger. Wasn’t his fault women were so hard to talk to and so confusing with all their emotions and feelings and things.

She blinked, eyes narrowing as she turned her attention to him, and he couldn’t look away.

“I never understood that phrase, one true love. The heart is not so small that you can only love one person in a lifetime.” So much conviction in her words. He swallowed and fidgeted under her gaze. She took a deep breath and let it out. “Or even at the same time.”

What the hell was that supposed to mean? She’d said he was smart enough to figure this out, but he wasn’t so sure because he didn’t want to let himself believe it was because she loved him. His heart thumped against his chest, racing enough to take his breath away, but he forced himself to breathe normally. His gaze shifted, breaking eye contact, and out of the corner of his eye he caught something surprising; the bottle she’d taken from him earlier, emptier now. “You’re drunk.”

“I was quite drunk but I am less so now.” No denial, just a heavy sigh.

Anger flared in his chest, but he tamped it down. This was one ditch he didn’t need to keep digging deeper. “This isn’t like you. You don’t drink your problems away.”

She raised an eyebrow, her face taking on a rueful cast. “I don’t not drink my problems away, either. I’ve never properly had the chance to try, and you all seem to think it is an effective way to deal with your emotions.” She shook her head. “I am not convinced, it didn’t work very well.” 

That much was obvious. The melancholy surrounded her, an almost tangible presence. 

Gentler, he said, “You aren’t cleared for alcohol yet. You could’ve hurt yourself.”

“Weren’t you just arguing with me earlier that we are free to risk our own lives the way we see fit, regardless of what anyone else thinks? I know what drunk feels like, I stopped when I got there.”

Touche. He deflated a bit, some of the hot air from his drunken tirade earlier escaping into the air in puffs of white.

“You’re right. It’s… different when it’s someone else.” He was unable to keep sheepishness from coloring his tone. To her credit, she didn’t gloat. “I’m sorry for everything I said, you didn’t deserve it. You aren’t even the first one this week to call me out, Doyle gave me an earful on New Burke, too. I guess I don’t learn.”

Snow continued to fall. He noticed a few flakes clinging to her lashes and was fixated on them. Such a tiny thing, snowflakes on eyelashes. Such beautiful eyes to be framed in icy white, despite being swollen and red from earlier tears. No one in the Tri-Galaxies had eyes like hers.

“It’s too easy for me to lash out at you, and I have a  really bad habit of doing it, don’t I?” he asked.

She rolled her eyes. “You could say that.” Then, after a deep breath, crystallizing in the air before disappearing. “You weren’t wrong. When I joined the Maru crew, I had a mission to complete, and you were all necessary tools. I was conditioned by the Nebula to view humans as  _ less _ . Insignificant and expendable. The only true thing in our Universe was the energy and matter that every living creature is compiled of. Organic lives are so short… I always cared more than I should, but at first, you were more like pets than friends.”

A part of him wanted to be angry that she’d used them like pawns on a game board, but the anger wouldn’t rise because he’d always known she had secret motives and he didn’t believe her, even if he’d accused her of the same earlier.

Three weeks into her stay on the Maru she’d saved his life. He could still see the worry on her face when he woke after she’d healed his plasma burns and sewn up his torn organs. She’d stayed by his bedside around the clock for three days until he could stand and walk on his own and, for an entire week after, she was there anytime he called, no matter how mean he’d gotten in his lowest moments. He couldn’t remember the last time she’d sung around him, but he remembered her singing then, an off-key lullaby in a language he couldn’t understand. He remembered her hand in his, too. Cool to the touch, but as soft as it was now.

Was it possible she held so much self-doubt and guilt inside that she truly believed it? He felt even worse about what he’d said earlier. He was here now, and that had to mean something, had to mean he could help. “What changed things?”

Why was she looking at him like that with her lips pulled into a sad little smile? She reached out with one hand and placed it on his cheek. Warmth radiated through the soft leather of her gloves, setting fire to where her fingers touched.

“You did, my first true friend. I came to care for you more than was safe, for either of us.”

Something was happening here, shifting between them. Something he understood instinctively but had never experienced, building out in the open air with the snow falling all around them. It occurred to him that they were both drunk, that he should stop her here, before they crossed a line they might not otherwise cross sober. 

He couldn’t do it.

“What’s happening right now? What’s going on between us? We started this tango once before, a long time ago, and you pushed me away—put a lot of distance between us real fast.”

She took her hand away. Goosebumps formed on his arm as cold flakes landed on the cheek her hand had warmed. She fidgeted in place, looked up as if looking for answers and drummed her fingers on the bench beside her. When she looked to him again, deep lines were etched into her forehead.

“You weren’t supposed to notice, it was supposed to be subtle.”

“How could I not? We were best friends, and then we weren’t. Even I’m not dense enough to miss that—it hurt.”

She closed her eyes and when she opened them, they pleaded with him to understand. “I am so sorry I hurt you, but I had to do it to save you. I could not care for you the way I did. You only survived in a handful of paths to the perfect possible future. I was always supposed to choose the lives of the others over yours, but I couldn’t do it. For you, I was willing to change every plan, to sacrifice my people’s idea of a perfect future, because how could it be perfect if you were gone? If they had known, they would have killed you and taken the choice away from me.” She paused, blinking rapidly as tears welled up.

He held his breath. He needed to hear what came next. 

She shook her head and that sad smile returned. “No matter how much I loved everyone else, I always loved you best. I still do.”

He’d waited a lifetime to hear a woman say those words. A lifetime to hear  _ her _ say those words. She watched him, frozen in place, her lips parted. As the silence stretched on, she swallowed, rolled her shoulders back and tilted her chin towards the sky, as if steeling herself for battle.

“You can’t say something like that without everything changing,” he said once his breath returned. She leaned toward him, resting her weight on her hands on the bench between them.

“Change is the only constant in the Universe, Seamus. Perhaps it is time for us to change, to become something different.”

Now he smiled and leaned in until their noses almost touched.

“Something better?”

Her smile changed, the sadness fading away until her face brightened. He was preoccupied with her lips all of a sudden, the shape and color of them so inviting, and so close.

“Maybe,” she whispered.

“I really want to kiss you right now.” The words spilled out without a thought.

A soft, breathless, laugh danced in the air. “Why don’t you? You’ve wanted to for weeks, but you never said or did anything.” She shook her head, her smile so full and wonderful, eyes sparkling like her skin. “I don’t think you’ve even hit on me once since I woke, and I have not figured out why.”

Laughter burst out from deep within, carrying through the hushed quiet of the colony, probably disrupting some poor monk’s silent meditation. He pulled away, threw his head back, and let it out.

“What? What’s so funny?”

Once he’d collected himself, he explained, “I was desperate for you to wake up, so I promised you that if you opened your eyes, I would stop hitting on you. No more innuendos or anything. Honestly, it was a last-ditch attempt and I didn’t expect it to work, but a few minutes later you woke up, the Universe’s most inconvenient coincidence.”

A brief shadow of sadness passed over her face, like a cloud over the moon, before the smile found its way back, accompanied by that sweet laugh. It filled his heart to hear her laughing; far too rare an occurrence these days. “That’s silly. Why would you make a promise like that? I never minded.”

Putting his hands on top of hers, he leaned in again, heart humming in anticipation of what had to come next. He’d just stepped into his very own romantic film starring Seamus Harper, the lonely bachelor who’d fallen for his best friend. The tropes were clear, there was one place to go from here.

Her head tilted to the side, her shoulders danced, and she winked. “I’ll forgive you, just this once, if you break your promise.”

He didn’t need another invitation. 

He closed the gap between them and brushed his lips against hers, testing whether he’d guessed right, a part of him convinced he was imagining it all. Warmth radiated from her skin and, despite the snow falling all around them creating marshmallow piles around their feet, the essence of spring engulfed him for a passing moment.

She let out a sigh when he pulled away and looked back at him through half closed lids.

“You realize we’re drunk right now?” he asked. 

She nodded. “Perhaps the alcohol is allowing us to admit to what we have been too afraid to admit for weeks now.”

He lifted his hands off of hers and brushed her cheek before kissing her again, deeper this time, tasting the whiskey that lingered on her lips. She returned it, their breath mingling in puffs of white between them, her nose cold and lips warm, as soft as he’d imagined they would be. The essence of flowers clung to her, and now to him. When she pulled back for air, he wrapped his arms around her shoulders and pressed his forehead to hers, not ready to let go. Perhaps even a little afraid that, if he did, he would wake up and find out he’d dreamt the entire thing.

“So what do we do now? I’ve never done this before.” A hard admission to make.

“Ione and I were bound as infants, we grew up together, so I have no idea. I suppose we take it day by day and build on what we have. Though step one should be to get back to your apartment and going to bed.”

He pulled back so he could look at her face, heart speeding up again. Did she mean go to bed  _ with _ him or alone in separate beds? For years he’d joked about taking Trance to bed and now he had no idea what to do with the concept of it.

She laughed. “Don’t look so alarmed—I am too drunk and too tired and your ribs haven’t even had a day to heal. I thought we could do something novel with the bed tonight and sleep in it. I could take Doyle’s bed again, if you’d prefer.”

He let out his breath and laughed, then stood, pulling her to her feet. He winked and lifted his eyebrows. “No, I don’t think I’d prefer that at all. I mean, we’ve already slept together once, might as well make a habit of it.”

She wobbled on her feet so he wrapped his arm around her waist and she pressed into his side. “This is going to be a fun walk.” 

He gave her a squeeze. He was certain no woman had ever felt so perfect in his arms before. “Don’t worry, I won’t let you fall. I’ll be right here beside you.” He kissed her again, and when again she returned it, his stomach dipped as if he were speeding downhill on a sled.

She blinked away more snowflakes. “I know you will.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter 20! There is so much story left, but we made it here, to this moment! I can hardly believe it. Thank you again, Dee for donating your wonderful error-spotting eyes to the cause and keeping my confidence up. Taff, I haven't called you out yet, but thank you so so much for finding me at the beginning of this journey. I made it to chapter 20 in part because of your encouragement and amazing reviews, and I know I can make it all the way to the end.
> 
> And thank you to everyone else who is reading. You are amazing. All of you.


	21. Heroes

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Quick note here: this chapter bumps the rating to M for suggestive sexual content.

Her body was warm and fit perfectly beside his on a bed so small they had to huddle together to fit properly. The apartment had never heated well, but it hadn’t mattered last night because her warmth had enveloped him. Warmth like beach sand on a summer day after swimming for hours in the ocean, or like a fire in the fireplace of a ski resort after a long afternoon of soaring down hills and crashing into pillows of snow. Warmth that seemed both feverish because he’d never held a woman so warm, and natural because it belonged to her.

The fog of sleep had lifted just shy of eight hours after his head hit the pillow. Sleep might have returned, it was still early and Trance was extra cuddly, but his ribs ached and the pressure of laying on his side made his freshly healed skin feel too tight. So, he’d given up and lain awake for an hour in his discomfort, listening to Trance’s breathing and letting his mind wander over yesterday’s events and what they meant for today and the future, her skin against his a reminder that everything and nothing were the same anymore.

If he were to go to his door and peek outside, or open one of the tiny windows, the sky would be grey with a glow on the horizon promising to light up the world in blinding white as the morning stretched on, like it had on snow days in Boston. But he didn’t move. Physical exhaustion added comfort to the hard mattress and scratchy blankets the way hunger added seasoning to food, and he couldn’t tear himself away from Trance, marveling at the feel of her—solid, and soft, and  _ there _ .

Usually at this point in the morning, whether it had been sex or the simple comfort of sharing a bed with another, he’d sneak away, desperate not wake his partner, the proverbial sight of the sun being his cue to go before awkward breakfasts and questions like, “Where do we go from here?” But he’d taken the sun with him to bed last night and had no intention of running away. She’d find him anyway, backed by the power of two angry captains and a nosy warship. Talk about awkward.

She hadn’t moved since he’d woken, not even when he’d brushed tangled curls from her face so he could see the way her long eyelashes brushed her cheekbones, and observe the structure of her face in the shadows of the nightlights. Whatever ghosts that haunted her sleep had stayed away, giving her peace for once. At some point she’d stolen the blanket—or he’d given it to her. It was hard to tell. The greyish thermal fabric was wrapped around her like a cacoon while it covered only half of him, the half where bare chest pressed up against a slender torso covered in only a thin tank top, and where their legs were all tangled up together.

The chronometer ticked on. He’d periodically checked the time, stored it away and wondered how minutes kept slipping away when the only thing occupying his mind was watching Trance sleep, but slip away it did, and now it was time to get up and get ready to return to Andromeda. He reached out and brushed her cheek again, applying more pressure this time then he allowed his hand to wander down under the blanket to her upper arm and gave it a squeeze. Her eyes moved beneath her lids and her lips twitched, but her body remained still.

He smiled, squeezed her arm again, and shook. “C’mon babe, we’ve gotta get back to Andromeda. Shoreleave’s over and you know who they’re gonna blame if we go AWOL.”

The cutest pout formed on her lips though she kept her eyes shut. With a whoosh, the blanket pulled away from him and flew over her head. “You’re lying.”

He reached out and pushed up the dial to light the room enough to banish the shadows then tugged the blanket down again, overcoming her half-hearted resistance. “Wish I were, darlin’, but it’s 0600. We’re supposed to be inbound by 0700 local time. I let you sleep as long as I could.”

As if the light had triggered the day to begin, his mind ticked off a list of things he needed to do, and none of them involved lazing around in bed, or even remaining on Tarn Vedra. He’d have to arrange repairs to the bar from space with a thirteen-hour time delay, a major annoyance, but it was his own fault it needed to be repaired in the first place. The Triumvirs were expecting the entire crew to show up this evening, bright eyed and smiling, to be paraded around as heroes. He’d rather pull the blanket back over both their heads, snuggle up close, and hide out beside Trance until it was over.

Perhaps he’d like being lauded as a hero more if he felt he’d done something particularly heroic? He hadn’t. They’d all done the same thing—worked to stop the entire Universe from crashing down around them because who the hell else would do it? Fight and maybe die or don’t fight and definitely die. Not much of a choice. Sure, maybe before Seefra he’d stuck around on the Arkology and fought to the bitter end. Some might call that heroic, but if they didn’t stop the Magog there, the monsters would have infested the known Galaxies and taken everything with them.

A single eye popped open, accompanied by a groan. “I don’t believe you.”

Right. Time to try something different. He closed the distance between their noses and pressed his lips to hers, heart speeding up, part of his brain saying that despite her presence in his bed arguing to the contrary, his advances wouldn’t be welcomed.

They were.

Her return was slow at first, sleepy and lazy, but it didn’t take long. He adjusted so that he was hovering over her, leaning on one elbow with his other arm cradling her close, knees digging into the mattress. She rose partway to meet him, arms circling around his neck. An entire universe could have exploded into life and he wouldn’t have noticed anything more than what was happening right there with his head spinning from shared oxygen, the mustiness of sleep and sweat still permeating the room, and the sheer closeness of her. She was all smooth skin and sharp bones, goosebumps and sweet little sighs. She was also awake now and those active hands that never sat still for long were exploring, setting fire to his skin where her fingers danced. A gentle escalation, and one that left him acutely aware of the locations of both the neckline of her top and the waistband of her shorts. How easy it would be to shift position again, free up his hands, and take this whole thing one step further.

But dammit, he was an adult, and that took the fun out of everything.

Responsible adult Harper—with his traditional horrible timing—reminded him they had to be in the air in less than an hour and the subtle ache in his side chimed in to say his ribs needed to heal at least another six hours before any activity Trance might deem as ‘strenuous’. This wasn’t their first rodeo. He sure hoped what followed the removal of clothing would be strenuous, so he pulled away with a heavy sigh, gazing at her from above. She stared into his eyes, hers half closed in a blend of sleepiness and desire.

“You have my attention,” she said breathlessly.

His small brain egged him on.  _ Who cares about responsibility? Just pick up where you left off, keep going. She's into it, you're into it, what's the problem? _

The problem was that best case scenario they’d send Beka in to get them. Worst case? Dylan would come himself. Neither the merciless teasing Beka would force them to endure, or the fatherly lecture on responsibility from Dylan seemed like a fun way to spend the afternoon. He rolled off to the side and offered a lopsided smile as he sat up, “So, it wasn’t a dream?”

Taking his lead, she sat too and winced, a hand shooting to her forehead. Her lips curled and nose wrinkled, complexion paling. She swallowed hard. “Nope, no dream. Unless dreams come with bad hangovers.”

Ouch. Good of an excuse as any to climb out of bed and do something other than think about the proximity of her amazing body, the shape of which he could still feel against his palms. He padded over to the medkit and pulled out two of the pills she kept tucked away in there, mostly for him, and mostly without Beka knowing since Beka thought hangovers were just rewards for drinking too much. Next, the stasis box for a glass of filtered water. She’d turned so her legs were hanging off the side of the bed and he sunk down beside her. “I don’t know if these’ll work for you, but the water will help, at least.”

Out of his hand, she took one pill and the water, returning his smile. “It should be fine if I just take one, and I’ll probably feel a lot better. Thanks.”

The reason for her hangover, aside from a not-entirely uncharacteristic bout of poor decision making moved in between them and made itself comfortable, like a little dog butting in with its tail wagging and tongue lolling out. She drank down some water and swallowed the pill. He tossed the other in his mouth instead of returning it and motioned for the glass. There was a fogginess in his brain and a sourness in his stomach that said he, too, had gone a little overboard on the alcohol yesterday. He’d gone a little overboard on just about everything.

He set the cup on the headboard. “I’m sorry, again, for all that crap I gave you yesterday, for hurting you like that. I won’t do it again.”

She placed a hand on his leg with an expression that wasn’t quite a frown, but far from a smile. “You will.”

It was a statement with the power of knowing behind it. Said any other way, he might have grown defensive, but his brain couldn’t figure out how to respond to this: the proclamation of a woman who’d confessed she loved him, confessed she wanted a relationship, yet believed so firmly he’d hurt her. She squeezed his leg, tilting her head, the inscrutable expression growing more so. “It’s okay, it is not something you think about doing; you never do it on purpose. It happens when you’re cornered and angry and it always has.”

A need for more connection drove his hand to hers. “I don’t want to hurt you. I—I love you.”

For a phrase with so much weight behind it, so much meaning, it tumbled out with no preamble. He’d thought the words would stew for a while, roll around inside his skull until the right moment, like in the movies. Shouldn’t they be harder to say now that he meant them? But they’d slipped out as if telling her he loved her were the most natural thing in the Universe. As if it were something that  _ should _ be said. So he said it again. “I love you.”

She placed a soft kiss on his lips. Those piercing eyes searched his soul again, bared it between them out in the open when it was supposed to be buried deep inside, and he couldn’t figure out how she kept coaxing it out over and over again. “I love you too, Seamus. You, as you are and as you have always been. I’ve seen the dark and scary places and I love you still; you aren’t a stranger. I know you will try, and that means everything.”

The words hung in the air, and he was stunned silent. He could see there were words stuck in her head, fighting her. The hand he wasn’t holding worried away at the sheets, picking at them and rolling them between her fingers. Slender legs kicked back and forth. Finally, shoulders rolling with a deep sigh, she spoke again, “I was unkind yesterday as well. I aimed to hurt with my words because I was hurting, and I’m sorry. It escalated because I could not walk away.”

“Kind of hard to walk away when you were trying to patch up my sorry ass, and I was being a jerk about it.”

Without a reply, she leaned over him, affording him a stunning view of the curve of her neck and spine, as well as a taunting bit of bare skin where tank top parted from shorts. He took a deep breath, and then another. This wasn’t the time for this. Seriously.

_ Okay, ship schematics—Andromeda’s engines run off of a reaction between hydrogen and antiproton... _

When she sat again, she held the leather pouch he’d seen her remove from her coat pocket and place next to his toolbelt on the floor last night. She opened it and pulled out an injector, extending it to him. “I wanted to show you something.”

He took it and read the digital label, Natraxitine. “What is it?”

“It’s a very low dose of a fast-acting anti-anxiety medication.”

A fast-acting anti-anxiety medication. Fast acting—like for panic attacks. It surprised him both that she’d turned to medication and that he hadn’t considered she would. She watched him, eyes unblinking. This was one of those moments where she wanted him to come to a specific conclusion on his own. She’d given him the outline and wanted him to connect the dots. It always made him feel like a kid again with his mother quizzing to see if he’d read his history texts.

“For panic? Has it happened since…” he trailed off. Dumb question. He’d seen her face last night before she stormed out the door.

She confirmed, eyes unwavering. “Only once. The medicine helped me control the anxiety, so it didn’t control me, so I could get somewhere safe and calm down.”

There was an emphasis on the word  _ control _ . His heart ached physically as his imagination started running through everything that could have gone wrong last night.

Damn him and his big mouth running off at all the wrong times, hurting those around him because he was angry. He’d never been able to control his anger because felt a hell of a lot better than the depression and self-pity that remained once it dissipated. The other emotions froze him, pulled him down, while anger pushed him to act. But last night was only one exhibit in a lifetime of evidence that anger pushed him to act blindly, caused him to lash out at those around him. It controlled him, not the other way around, and if he didn’t learn to control it, he’d keep hurting her

The injector was cold in his hands as he realized what she’d wanted him to see. She’d wanted him to stop and think about consequences of his actions, to see the effect they’d had on her, because introspection wasn’t one of his strongest skill sets.

“Sometimes what we feel is too much for us to handle on our own,” she said as if she could sense his thoughts. “Trauma changes the brain, but I can’t repair a lifetime of it without removing an essential part of what makes you Seamus Harper. It takes a lot of hard, painful work that has to be done mostly alone. I can make it easier, though, if you’re willing to try. You have been carrying this weight with you for so long it is no wonder you are exhausted.”

She kissed him again. “You can learn to control it and I know this because after everything you’ve been through, you can still love as deeply as you do.”

Throughout the years, she’d offered to help and he’d never understood. He’d snapped back at the implication that she thought he was weak. He was a Harper from Boston, and Harpers were tough. They had to be.

But he’d had it all wrong.

He balanced the injector on his palm, then placed it in her hand, closing his fingers around hers when she took it. She was the strongest person he’d ever met; the women who’d stood unflinching before the Spirit of the Abyss multiple times, who’d watched her friends walk away from her without saying goodbye then sacrificed herself on the slimmest hope of saving them. She’d lost her memories and regained them only to lose half of herself and power beyond his ability to imagine. Yet she kept going. He could never think of her as weak, and she knew that.

Now he needed to show her that her faith wasn’t misplaced, that he  _ was _ strong, strong enough to accept her help.

He kissed her gently. “For you, I’ll try. For you, I’d do anything.”

 

********************

 

Trance didn’t look away from the console on her desk when Rommie entered. She remained focused, fingers tapping away, desk littered with flexis. In arms reach rested a teapot and half-empty cup, both steaming.

“Trance, I have your dress.” Rommie kept her tone low, but Trance still startled.

“Oh, Rommie. I wasn’t expecting you. I thought you were a bot.”

A quick visual inspection showed that her time planetside had caused no harm. She seemed rested and healthy, and scans on her return had detected a couple of weak viruses, but her immune system was keeping up. All good news, but Rommie was more concerned with issues that didn’t reveal themselves easily in scans.

“What are you working on so soon after returning?”

As Trance rose from her desk to greet her properly, Rommie removed the dress from the garment bag and laid it out on the bed. At least Trance didn’t complain about needing to dress formally, not the way Harper and Beka did, even after all these years.

“I know I shouldn’t be, but I was catching up on what is happening in the Tagris system. Things are not looking good there. We will need to intervene sooner than expected.” She stepped up beside Rommie, looking down at the simple long-sleeved black dress with a delicate lace overlay. It was both tasteful and appropriate for a formal award ceremony and a long ways away from the clothing she’d word when they’d first met. “You didn’t have to bring this yourself. ”

If it were the old days, her bots would have steamed and pressed dress uniforms instead of dresses and suits, but the Maru trio would balk even more at that than formal wear, though they were entitled to the uniforms. Only Dylan and Rhade would stand tall in their dress blues with the rest of the crew tonight and it struck Rommie with a strange sense of nostalgia and a longing for days past. The old days were long gone, though, and it didn’t do to dwell on them when so much else required her attention.

“I wanted to touch bases with you after shoreleave, but first I want to reassure you that Dylan has been watching the situation in Tagris closely and the Triumvirate has been briefed on what is happening under the highest level of confidentiality.”

Rommie watched Trance’s expression carefully, picking up the subtle twitching of her eyebrow and tensing of her shoulders beneath her positive demeanor. Dylan had explained to Trance before that secrecy wasn’t guaranteed that if there were any threat to the Commonwealth’s security he would tell them about her people. Trance was wary, with good reason, of word getting out. Organics didn’t always react well to what they perceived as threats. Rommie had to trust that the Triumvirs would guard the information for the good of the stars and their citizens, because if she couldn’t trust the Commonwealth, what was the point of their battles to keep this fledgling society going?

Rommie suspected, though, that the discomfort was less about the leaders of the Commonwealth knowing about her people and more about them knowing about  _ her _ .

Trance picked the dress up and held it to her torso then put it down, giving a forced smile. “It looks wonderful. Thank you. What was it you wanted to talk about?”

Subject change noted. Rommie would allow Dylan to unpack this situation with Trance later, he was much better at comforting than she was; it was one of the many traits that made him a good captain. She regretted that this subject wouldn’t be any more comfortable. “I noticed when taking inventory of your medical supplies that a dose of Natraxitine is missing. Did you find it necessary to use it while on Tarn Vedra?”

With a little too much care and attention, Trance laid the dress back down on the bed, smoothing it out so there weren’t any wrinkles. “I did. I caught the attack and the medication worked as expected. There were no side effects that I noticed.”

After a moment in which she didn’t seem to know what to do with her hands, Trance moved to a flowering bonsai set into an alcove. It wasn’t as impressive as Trance’s original bonsai, the one she’d carried with her from the beginning and lost at the Worldship, but it was healthy and aesthetically pleasing.  She ran her fingers through the leaves then picked up a set of sheers resting beside the pot and clipped an errant branch.

Rommie stepped in beside her, hands behind her back. “Was the attack at all related to the other medical supplies and nanobots missing from your medkit?”

Trance was away again, back to her desk where she stacked and re-stacked the mess of flexis, before giving up with a huff and dropping the entire pile into a drawer. When she spoke, Rommie detected a hint of weariness. “Someone needed help, and I helped them.”

Harper, of course. It wasn’t just proximity to Trance or the process of elimination, accounting for the locations of the rest of the senior staff during their shoreleave, or even Trance’s body language.

It was always Harper.

Concern for his safety was more a feature of her programming now than a reaction to external stimuli. No one could explain logically how he’d survived over thirty-years at the rate he found his life in danger. She might have believed the stories made up if she hadn’t seen it with her own eyes. As an AI, she didn’t believe in luck; luck was something organics made up to make sense of what their inefficient brains couldn’t process. Yet, statistically, Harper shouldn’t be alive.

“Is this someone going to be alright?”

Trance sighed, turned around, and leaned her weight against the desk. “They will need more nanobots today, possibly tomorrow too, but will be back to their boundary pushing self in no time.”

Good, the situation was under control, and since Trance hadn’t mentioned Harper by name, she didn’t need to let Dylan know. Humans needed to feel they could keep secrets from her, and she trusted Trance’s judgement.

After a beat, Trance reached into the drawer and pulled out one of the flexis she’d thrown in there. She hesitated, then handed it off. “I haven’t put the request into the computer yet, but I would like you to run an analysis on those medications with Harper’s brain chemistry to figure out the best combination.”

Rommie processed the list. “You’re looking to tailor an antidepressant specific to his needs. I’m surprised, he’s never expressed interest before, even after being prompted by both me and you.”

Vehemently against even the suggestion of it was more apt, but less polite to say.

Trance smiled a true smile and winked. “I think he might be a little more willing to listen to me now.”

Emphasis on  _ me _ . A smile formed as Rommie processed the implications of Trance’s words combined with her body language. Love, she’d seen and experienced in her own way, was a powerful emotion. It brought people together, gave them a reason to fight, and a purpose outside themselves. Love made people stronger and more capable of facing the challenges of difficult lives.

And the lives of her crew had been difficult for so many years.

“It was an eventful trip,” she said.

Trance laughed and shrugged, “You could say that. Harper’s never done anything the easy way so I don’t see why he would start now. To be honest, I still don’t know what to think, but it feels better to have it out in the open. Thank you for giving me that little push.”

“For what it is worth,” Rommie said as she stepped up to Trance, reached out, and placed a hand on her upper arm in a very Dylan like move, “I am happy for you, for both of you. If it helps at all, I believe you’ve made the right decision.”

“It means a lot Rommie.”

With a squeeze, Rommie pulled away and clasped her hands behind her back once more. She closed her eyes as the mainframe pinged her.

“You should leave the Tagris system for another day and get ready. The Triumvirs and their entourage just informed us that their ETA is one hour. The ceremony will begin on time.”

Trance’s smile faltered, but she recovered quickly. “I’ll be on time, and I’ll make sure Harper is. Thanks again.”

“You’re welcome.”

 

*******************

 

The entire crew had gathered together in one of the multi-purpose bays on the lower decks. Just over 500 people in their dress blues, sitting straight backed waiting for the senior staff to to arrive in a cavernous room re-decorated with greenery, drapes and candles. Ambassadors and representatives of the Commonwealth member worlds occupied two rows in front of his crew and at the very front a row of chairs covered in navy blue stood empty, a stage with an ornate podium stretched out before them with a handful of seats for the Triumvirs and their staff. 

Tomorrow, the number of crew would more than double, and the next day, it would quadruple.

Those beside him didn’t wear uniforms though they'd donned their Commonwealth pins for the first time since Seefra. They were solemn, standing bunched together in nervous silence. Rommie hadn't been able to get Beka in a dress, Dylan noted, and it brought a smile to his face, because the Triumvirs had insisted on doing this the "correct way" despite his protests, but they didn't understand that his crew did things their own way. Beka's navy pantsuit stood out as a minor protest and a testament to the willpower of a crew that had set out to do the impossible and succeeded—over and over again.

They'd wanted to do the entire ceremony at the Senate Center on Terazed with thousands in attendance, broadcasted for all the Commonwealth and beyond to see. They'd wanted to roll out the proverbial red carpet, show off the Restored Commonwealth's heroes for all the member worlds and prospective members to see.

He'd refused their politically motivated ceremony in favor of something much smaller. In a moment he wasn't  proud of, but didn’t regret, he'd even used Trance's illness to put a stop to their grandiose plans. As a part of his senior staff, he’d said, one of those being honored, it would be too much for her and too taxing on her immune system. At the time of planning, she'd been far worse off so it hadn't been a lie but he'd left out her remarkable recovery rate. Lie or not, it  _ would  _ have been too much—for all of them.

To his trained eye, the signs of stress were clear. Trance's hands clenched and unclenched at her sides as she stared straight ahead, and even a comforting hand on her shoulder did nothing to calm them. Beka's muscles were tightly coiled, ready to spring and opposite of her, Harper hadn’t stopped moving, weight shifting from foot to foot, muscles twitching at every sound. Only Doyle, Rhade, and Rommie seemed alright, the first two calm and collected per their programming, the latter simply bored. As the Admiral of Terazed’s Home Guard, he’d suffered through a career of events like these. Dylan hoped his calm would rub off on the others.

An echoing of footsteps in the hall caught everyone’s attention and they turned to see the Triumvirs, led by Andromeda’s security personnel. Tri Lorne and Tri Laurent moved in time with one another at the front, both familiar with Andromeda and her crew. Behind them, a new face, an ant-like Than-Thre-Krull by the name of Song of Summer Nights, her shimmering diamond colored carapace marking her as one of the ruling class. She was the first non-human or Nietzschean elected Triumvir since the Fall, another subtle sign that their alliance grew stronger every day.

“Tris Laurent, Lorne, and Song, welcome. I hope you’ve found your stay satisfactory so far?” Dylan asked.

“It has been most satisfactory. Your ship is remarkable,” Tri Song said in the mechanical tone all Than possessed when speaking common. “Shall we begin?”

Dylan nodded. The Than were an efficient species that enjoyed process and order. No need to waste time dallying in the corridors. His crew’s eyes were on him, waiting for his orders. The Triumvirs were his superiors, but his staff answered to him. He gave them a nod and a smile, hoping it would reassure them. As nervous as they were, they deserved this.

Rommie stepped forward into the room. A two toned buzz followed her and the crew’s heads snapped around in unison. Her voice rang out, amplified automatically by the mainframe. “Captain on deck.”

As one, the crew rose, snapped to attention, and turned with an audible snap to the doorway with their heads held high and shoulders back. He was proud of his crew even if he'd only known them for a few months. They’d worked hard and had faced every challenge as bravely as expected. This crew had faced down the Magog beside him, as new and green as they were, and this honor was as much for them as the people beside him.

That was his cue. He channeled his inner soldier, a part of himself that seemed more natural to him than most after so many years, and stepped into the room. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw the others stand up taller, following his lead. He could always expect them to follow when it was important—and let him know when it wasn’t. This was long overdue.

He marched to the first seat and the others took their places beside him, standing at attention facing the door. First Beka, by his side as first officer and then Rhade. Trance and Harper next, with Doyle and Rommie taking up the rear. Dylan smiled at Orlund, who’d been seated with the crew earlier. Once they were in place, Rommie announced the Triumvirate, who took to the stage to the sound of his crew turning as one to face the podium.

“Salute,” Rommie called, and the anthem played.

Speeches came first. Long and filled with all the expected platitudes: an update on the state of the Commonwealth; praise for his crew, and short sighted visions of a glorious future that glossed over the not-so-secret threat from Nietzscheans and the terrifying and confidential threat of rogue suns. No sense in sounding the trumpets of war so soon after their victory over the Magog. A beautiful illusion. A gossamer overlay for reality. Those beside him didn’t buy it and he had to give Beka a subtle tap on the arm to remind her that the Triumvirs could see them and her huffs and eyerolls wouldn’t go unnoticed—though he didn’t blame her and he wouldn’t discipline her for it, even if asked.

Then it was his turn. He didn’t give a speech; he hated speeches. The picture of brevity, he thanked his crew for their dedication, their valor, for facing a Universe ending crisis with decorum, and then he turned to his senior staff. One by one he took velvet boxes from a table near the podium and passed them out. Inside, on satin linings, rested rank pins marking them as officers of the High Guard, a position they’d held for years without the official documentation.

He passed the first to Beka, a shining silver sun, keeping her captaincy intact. “I promise you don’t have to wear a uniform and you still don’t have to call me captain.”

He gave Trance and Harper theirs at the same time and waited. They opened them and Harper’s brow wrinkled. He looked to Trance’s and back to his, his expression a blend of confusion and shock. Trance watched them both, thoughtfully.

Dylan stepped in to speed things along. “Something wrong, Mr. Harper?”

“Boss, you gave us Lieutenant Commander badges.”

“I did.” Dylan leaned in close, winked and lowered his voice. “You’ve been promoted.”

“Really? Does it come with a pay raise?”

To say the entire room exploded in laughter would have been an overstatement, but not much of one. The thin line of tension that had stretched between his close friends since before the ceremony snapped. In true Harper fashion, he’d crashed through the barriers of expectation and reminded them that despite the Commonwealth and the High Guard staking a claim to them, they were still the same crew they’d always been: irreverent, undisciplined, resourceful, and loyal—a family nothing could break apart or change, not even politics.

The last two boxes belonged to Doyle and Orlund, both from Seefra, and both deserving of recognition and acceptance. With this pin, he made Doyle a full member of his crew, even if he didn’t quite have a place for her yet. Orlund would return to Seefra, to the tunnels where he acted as gatekeeper, guarding the leavings of Vedran society and the history of the planet. No one knew the tunnels better than he did, and Dylan had fought to keep him in his position. Because of that, when Orlund returned home, he would do so as a member of the High Guard—no more pretending. An additional, much larger box, accompanied his pin and when he opened it, tears formed in his brown eyes. Dylan glanced at Trance catching her smile nod of approval.

Orlund rested a palm on the uniform inside, looking as if he’d stepped right into the fairytale he lived inside his mind, a man being knighted by the sword of a king. “I won’t let you down, Captain. I will honor this uniform with my life.”

“I know you will.”

The ceremony moved on. More velvet boxes, this time handed out by Tri Lorne, a smile on his unremarkable middle-aged face. When the Commonwealth had turned on Andromeda, Tri Lorne had remained loyal, had called Dylan his hero and fought beside them, the only politician willing to do the right thing. So it was him who awarded each of them with the Order of the Commonwealth for their bravery and dedication to the values of the Commonwealth. He moved through the team, placing silver medals around their necks and pinning the decoration on their collars, unabashedly proud.

The room remained silent as Tri Lorne took the podium and called for a moment of silence to honor all who’d lost their lives at the Battle of the Worldship.

Then the ceremony was over, so Dylan thought. Instead of the expected dismissal, Tri Song stepped up to the podium. “I would like to dismiss all officers and diplomats, but would like the senior staff to remain.”

This hadn’t been in the plan and Dylan could only shrug when his senior staff looked to him for answers. The rest of the crew marched out in straight lines, steps ringing in time. Those who didn’t need to return to duty would attend the reception one deck up while the rest manned their stations. The Triumvir’s staff followed the crew until only the seven of them stood facing the Triumvirs.

“We have one more award to give out. Andromeda, privacy protocol Argosy Alpha-Three-Seven-Nine,” Tri Song ordered as she made her way down the podium, and Dylan’s heart dropped into his stomach, eyes shifting to Trance. They hadn’t informed him of any more awards and the Argosy protocol could only mean one thing in this context. “Trance Gemini, will you step forward?”

Trance looked to him for a moment, panicked, and he gave her a miniscule shrug and shake of his head, sure Trance could read the confusion in his eyes. A mask of composure smoothed out her features an instant later as she stepped forward.

“Captain Hunt has debriefed us at the highest levels of confidentiality on the events leading to the Worldship’s destruction and the return of Tarn Vedra to the Known World. He could not leave your role in them out. First, I would like to reassure you that we all agree with the need for secrecy surrounding your people. You need not fear a breach in that confidentiality.”

Damn them for not saying anything.

Trance remained statue-still, her eyes solidly on Tri Song. The string of tension surrounding the group returned. Harper fidgeted and twitched and seemed about ready to jump to Trance’s rescue. The others cast nervous glances back and forth, the subject of the Lambent Kith and the source of Trance’s sacrifices—the reasons for them—a taboo since she’d woken.

“We debated for some time over how to recognize you for everything you have done and all you have given up. So long, in fact, that Captain Hunt wasn’t even informed of our intentions today. It didn’t sit well to give you the Order of the Commonwealth and leave it at that, so today we present you with the Order of the Vedran Empress. I wish there were a higher honor as none of us would be here if it weren’t for your actions. No one in the history of the Commonwealth has saved so many or lost so much in its service.”

The weight of her words settled around them and made the room feel smaller somehow. Tri Lorne approached now with another box in his hands, his expression grave. A night with so many boxes, and this is the one that reminded them of the price of peace, that peace was a fragile thing at best and an illusion at worst.

Trance swallowed heavily, still frozen in place, as Tri Lorne hung the shimmering silver medal with its thick ornate ribbon around her neck and pinned a third pin to her collar. A tear slipped from her eye, shimmering as it drew its path across her cheek. Another joined it a moment later. He could see how tightly she held herself, how her composure hung by a thread.

The urge to protect and comfort was overpowering, but he couldn’t protect her from her past.

With no fanfare, the ceremony ended. Trance stayed in place as the Triumvirs moved away and Harper leapt at her as if shot from a cannon, taking her by the arm and guiding her away.

As uncomfortable as things had been earlier, they couldn’t compare to now. Beka spoke first clasping her hands in front of her, gaze darting towards the door. “I guess we, um, should head over to the reception. Heard the chefs have outdone themselves with dinner.”

“I’ll go with you,” Rhade replied quickly, turning on heel. Doyle merely shrugged and followed shooting Dylan a lopsided smile for an apology.

Rommie placed a hand on his arm, stopping him from rushing to Trance.

“Why didn’t they say anything?” he demanded, as if she had all the answers. She usually did, but it wasn’t fair to expect it in this instance. “If they had, I could’ve—”

“You could have stopped them from giving her an honor she has earned, and one that will ensure the Commonwealth will do everything within its power to accommodate her needs and her career for the rest of her life?” Rommie interrupted, guessing his thought process, eyebrow raised. When she said it like that, it sounded ridiculous.

“I could’ve at least warned her, prepared her. I should go talk to her.” He searched the room for where she’d gone, expecting her to have stayed for a moment to compose herself before heading to the reception. She’d smile and do what was expected of her no matter how upset.

Rommie shook her head, her gaze falling on something in the distance. “Harper has this tonight, it might be best if you wait to talk to her until tomorrow.”

He followed her gaze. Harper had steered Trance to an area partially hidden by a potted tree and blue drapes. They stood face to face, too close to be anything but intimate. Harper spoke words too quiet for Dylan to hear, and as he did, he lifted a thumb and rubbed just below Trance’s eye. She said something in return, and he cracked a joke. At least Dylan assumed it was by the smile that broke out in response. Then, Harper pulled her into an embrace that ended with a single tender kiss, as if no one else were in the room to see, every move filled with compassion and love—a gentler side of Harper that Dylan had rarely seen before.

“Huh. It finally happened.” Because finally was the proper word here. He narrowed his eyes, looking back to Rommie, suddenly paranoid. “This did  _ just _ happen, right?”

She smiled, looking close to laughter. “I think it happened on the planet.”

Relieved, he allowed his own smile to surface, happy that they were happy, though he did have concerns both as captain and friend. He averted his eyes so that when the couple took notice of the wider world, they wouldn’t catch him staring and shook his head. “Not that I didn’t expect this to happen, but it’s still a little hard to believe. I mean, it’s Harper.”

“It is indeed Harper, and oddly enough, I think that’s part of the appeal.”

Dylan laughed and placed a hand on Rommie’s shoulder blade, motioning with his other hand to the door. “It usually is, Rommie. It usually is.”

They left Trance and Harper behind to take their time. Dinner would wait on them.

 

********************

 

“There, that’s better,” Trance said as she stepped into her quarters, Harper beside her. “Andromeda, lights at 45%.” 

The lights came on, illuminating the room, she allowed a soft sigh to escape. Everything was in its place, neat, orderly and comforting in its familiarity. Most of all, it was quiet and free from curious eyes and well-wishers.

She kicked her dress shoes off at the door, lining them up against the wall. Harper followed suit, leaving his boots toppled over with both socks hanging out of one of them. The suit jacket came next, along with the button up top covering a more comfortable t-shirt, both dropped unceremoniously on top the row of footwear, hooks on the wall for the purpose of hanging coats ignored. Trance shook her head at the small mess, but no one could say she didn’t know what she was getting herself into.

She crossed the room to her desk and her fingers moved to the pins attached to her collar, gently removing them. The last she held between her thumb and forefinger, tilting it back and forth, watching as the lights reflected off it—The Order of the Vedran Empress, the High Guard’s highest honor and a reminder of everything she’d sacrificed to be here today. A bot had taken the heavy medal back to her quarters early in the evening.

“No one deserves that more than you,” Harper said, coming up behind her and wrapping his arms around her waist, his cheek resting next to hers on her shoulder. He kept his voice low as if sensing her desire for quiet. She leaned back into him, pressing her back to his chest, deriving comfort from his presence. “Most people who get that award don’t live to tell about it.”

There was truth in his words. Another truth surfaced, one she didn’t dare voice out loud to Harper because he was sensitive about mortality the way many humans were, the way she was learning to be. She should have been dead many times over by now. She hadn’t planned to survive going supernova and almost hadn’t. Yet here she was.

“I did not do what I did for recognition and I did not do it to martyr myself. I did it because it was the right thing to do because it needed to be done.”

“Trust me. I read a lot of comic books as a kid. The best heroes are those who become heroes because they have to, not because they want to. The latter come off as assholes and aren’t as fun to read about.”

She laughed, marveling at how he could make her smile. With care, she placed the pin down beside the others. Three pins. Three pieces of her identity. Trance Gemini, official High Guard officer. Trance Gemini the brave. Trance Gemini, the one willing to lose everything for what she believed in. Who else could she be as her shortened life unfolded? Best friend? Lover? A strange sensation to not know what the future held. She turned in Harper’s arms and he moved his hands so they rested on her hips. She closed her eyes and leaned in for a kiss before she pulled away again to study him.

Alcohol had painted his cheeks red and she imagined hers were much the same, based on the feel of them. A contented half smile pulled up one side of his mouth. His was a face that sported more wrinkles now than when she met him, but the imperfections had only added his charm. She touched his cheek, rough with late night stubble, and placed her other hand over his heart.

“I’m not a storybook hero,” she said, afraid he would place her so high up on a pedestal she could never maintain his image of her as their relationship grew. She’d been on so many pedestals in her life she’d lost count and was sick of them.

“I don’t think you get to choose whether you’re a hero or not.” Then, he changed the subject. “You think everyone knows about us now?”

She laughed, caressing his skin with her thumb. “I think everyone knew about  _ us _ before we did. I hope they aren’t too disappointed two of their guests of honor took off early.”

“Just tell them the truth, you were tired and overwhelmed. No one will argue with you if you say you need to rest. In fact, they might trip over themselves making sure you’re comfortable.”

She frowned. Harper was full of uncomfortable truths tonight, and she wasn’t in the mood for more discomfort. She wanted to hold on to the moments of happiness—dancing with Dylan and and Harper at the reception and watching Harper try to teach Doyle a two-step. When that’d failed, he’d tried to convince Rommie to try, and it had been wonderful. She wanted to remember her friends’ easy smiles and the taste of the food and expensive wines. All the moments before the congratulations of strangers, the lights, and the noise had become too much and she’d decided that the only place she wanted to be was a secluded room with Harper where she was free to drop all her masks and leave them scattered on the floor forgotten for a night.

Time to change the subject.

“Speaking of tired. I need to get off my feet, join me?” She winked and raised an eyebrow as she pulled away, moving right past the couch until she reached the bed where she took a seat, eyes on him. Harper stood where she’d left him, and she tilted her head, sending him a silent question. For a nano-second, she thought she might have to make her intentions for this evening a little more clear. After all his talk and bravado throughout the years, and his action this morning, she hadn’t expected him to to hesitate. At least not at the point of initiation.  Finally, he decided and sat down beside her. She twisted around so they were face to face.

His eyes scanned her face and then, like she’d done to him earlier, he reached up and put a hand on her cheek.

“You are so damn beautiful.” Then he slid his hand behind her neck and pulled her in for a kiss. Her heart sped up before their lips met, and a nervous energy washed over her accompanied by a powerful need to be closer to him, to close the gap between them.

He must have thought the same, because he wrapped his other arm around her and pulled her to him, trapping her arms between them, until they were a strange puzzle of limbs, and torsos and hips that somehow fit together perfectly.

The first kiss was barely a peck, the touch of a butterfly lighting on her skin. In the next, she could taste the wine on his lips, smell the blending of cologne, soap, and machine oil that clung to him. A scent uniquely Harper, and one she couldn’t get enough of. She breathed it in, her exhalation coming out as a sigh as his fingers brushed up her neck and danced along her scalp, awakening every nerve ending, sending chills down her spine. He moved in for a third now. More urgent. More imploring. An exploration. One she returned it in kind, memorizing the shape and feel of his lips and the way his stubble scraped at her cheek.

She pressed her palms to his chest, then moved them with purpose towards his sides not lifting them until they found the hem of his shirt. Her hands slipped under the fabric and she pushed his shirt up, needing to get to his bare skin, to feel it against hers. The fuzz on his chest reacted to the feverish heat of her hands, rising to attention against her palms.

He grunted in protest when she pulled away from his kisses, but caught on quickly enough, helping her with his top, dropping it to the floor beside the bed before catching her lips with his once more. Now his hands were on her back and then brushing against the sides of her breasts, down to her stomach before exploring the curve of her waist and hip bones. Further down they moved, along her thighs, searching for the end of her dress. The energy built around them until her nerves quivered with it.

A groan escaped against his mouth when his hands finally fell on the skin of her waist. He pulled her dress up slowly. Painfully so. She focused on the progression of his hands, her skin alive in the places he touched, every sensation magnified from the way the way his soft palms gave way to calloused fingers to the way the air brushed against her skin as her dress lifted away from it. She wanted to hurry him and remain in that moment at the same time.

Then it was off, and he held her back with one hand, studying her body with half closed eyes. He reached out with the other and traced the red from her forehead, to her neck and sides, and all the way down to the point where it disappeared beneath the waistband of her leggings.

Greedy and unable to wait any longer she pushed forward, pressing her lips to his. Strong hands gripped her by the waist, lifted her up to her knees so they could remove her leggings and finish the exploration of her markings. Soon she was before him in just her underclothes and he stopped to study her, breath as unsteady as hers.

“Not that I haven’t dreamed about this for years–” he started, voice cracking. She’d expected this, had been waiting for when his insecurities rose to the surface. She cut him off with a kiss—slow, purposeful and absent the passion she’d displayed just a moment before. Sensing the change in her, he kept his peace, giving her the floor.

“If you are going to ask me if I am sure about this, don’t. You either need to trust I can make my own decisions, or trust you are worthy of being loved.” This kiss, too, was gentle and sweet, a physical affirmation of her words. “I meant what I said this morning; I love you and I have for a long time. This is what I want.”

For a beat, he didn’t move, just watched her in awe. Then he too leaned in for a gentle kiss, and in it she could feel the power of his love, and understood that he’d carried it with him as long as she had, a coal buried beneath the ashes, tucked away after she’d denied the first sparks of romance.. He’d never smothered that tiny bit of fire.

“I love you, too.”

Her world became a series of impressions after that. Warmth and skin. Breathless sighs, and the occasional giggle with the discovery of a ticklish spot. Soft kisses on her neck. Her hands exploring the contours of his body as his explored hers, each of them experimenting and memorizing each other’s reactions, learning what worked and what didn’t.

Sensations and emotions she hadn’t experienced in a long time surfaced. The energy built up and buzzed around them and when he pushed gently down onto the mattress, it seemed that together they’d become pure energy, intrinsically connected, humming with light and life and power as they moved together, sharing so much more than a moment of passion.

After it spent itself, they lay sleepily together, arms and legs entwined, chests rising and falling together, her heart pounding out a strong and lively beat inside her chest. Though tired, she hadn’t felt so alive in months.

“There’s no going back now,” he said pressing his lips to her forehead.

With effort, she opened her heavy eyes and gazed at his smiling face, peaceful and fully relaxed for the first time in months. Out of the corner of her eye she could see the chronometer. It was after midnight. “I would not want to. Happy Birthday.”

“I think it’s going to be the best one yet,” he replied with a kiss.


	22. Destiny

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am a couple of days early in posting, but I was finished and ready to get it out. This concludes the section of the story I have labeled as Part One. I am probably going to take a short break before writing the interlude and jumping right into Part Two. Thank you so much for reading this far. I appreciate every single one of you. Enjoy!

“She fights her destiny, and now she fights me because of it.” A soft-spoken voice greeted him in Vedran as he entered the room. It was a voice much like Trance’s, with the same lilt and intonation yet deeper and more self-assured. A voice that knew its power, and knew it would always be heard, despite the weariness that weighed it down now. Its familiarity put him at ease.

Captain Hunt stepped further in with the Paradine Dylan in control. This space was new to him, but not his internal companion who’d spent hours here. He understood that the voice belonged to a mother near the end of her life and was filled with concern that she hadn’t prepared her nine children for the challenges of the future. Especially the eldest two. Over and over they’d tread this ground with the Paradine Dylan offering comfort and reassurance, but it was never enough to allay her fears.

A fullness around his heart accompanied by a desperate longing to take her into his arms, kiss her head, and tell her everything would work out in the end pulled him forward. The strength of the emotions surprised him. The way he felt them as his own and not as the Paradine’s. The way the memories were starting to seem as if they’d always been a part of him, as if there never should have been a doubt that after countless visits and fireside conversations, and years of listening to her tell stories of the Universe she’d come from with one or both of her twins snuggled on his lap until they’d grown too big to fit, that he should fall in love with her.

Instead, he took a more conservative approach. “She’s still young. Too young, really, and it’s a lot to ask of her.”

Despite its walls of smooth white stone that seemed to have grown into shape instead of been manipulated into it, and the chill in the air outside, the room was warm. Heat emanated from a fire in a giant hearth against one wall with an ornate stone grate across it, the images of suns and moons carved just deep enough that the flames flashed through them, making them seem alive. She didn’t need the fire. The Lambent Kith felt the cold but it didn’t affect them. Captain Hunt gathered that she’d been expecting him by both the fire and the way she remained staring out the window instead of confirming who had entered before speaking.

Long auburn curls fell down her back freely, decorated with only a circlet. He couldn’t see much of it from here, but the Paradine had it memorized: a simple piece of molded gold with a sun formed in the center, a shimmering white jewel that caught the light in rainbow prisms set into it. A crown more delicate than ostentatious, and entirely fitting for the woman who wore it.

“She does not have much time. _I_ do not have much time.”

He moved in beside her, footsteps silenced by a thick green carpet that covered the hard floor, trying to ignore her emphasis on ‘I’. As he did so, he passed wall hangings depicting cities more beautiful than any he’d ever seen; alien planets with lavender seas and green continents; and grand starscapes that stretched on forever. All of them second-hand renditions of the home she’d given up to save her species. Around, and sometimes over them, vines with midnight purple leaves and golden flowers, grew unchecked. First he looked to the snow-covered fairy forest outside and then to his companion. He wrapped an arm around her shoulder, tugging her gently closer. She turned into his embrace and he kissed her forehead right below the sun on her crown.

“Avera, she knows what has to be done. She’ll make the right decision when the time comes, I know she will.”

Captain Hunt marveled at her name: Avera—sun in Vedran. The word had remained the same over millions of years, through the many varied tongues of the Ancient Vedrans to the single common Vedran language he’d spoken before the Fall of the Commonwealth. If it weren’t for her pointed ears, the shimmer of her skin, and the painting of ruby dust along her hairline, cheeks, and neck, that disappeared beneath the collar of a simple flowing white dress, she could be just another worried Human mother. Yet she was the guardian of the Vedrans and the embodiment of their sun.

“I wish I could see as well as she does so I might know if what you say is true. As a child born to this Universe, she’s already more powerful than I have ever been. But she is so young. Tell me, how much responsibility do you give young adolescents in your world and do they cause as much trouble as my two do?”

“What is it today?” More well-trodden ground. To Vedrans or Humans the twins would appear to be eleven or twelve years old, and apparently, even the stars were prone to testing parental boundaries at this stage of their development.

“Aside from her new hobby of breaking into organic museums and taking their artifacts for fun?”

A smile played across his face, despite her seriousness. “She swears up and down that those artifacts belonged to her brother.”

“I am sure the Kyrens did give them to him, two millennia ago by the way they count time,” Avera replied with a warm smile of her own. Those smiles came less and less frequently these days as her energy waned and her end loomed. Though no one could say exactly how much time she had left, many of her friends and the father of her children, a man Dylan had never met and who seemed to have had little interest in his children's lives, had already passed away. As if she could sense his train of thoughts, her smile melted away. “Those are just children’s games, though. She’s demanded that we send only her to the Nebula and leave her sisters to live their lives independently. I’ve often wished she would find her voice and speak her mind to me instead of letting her brother do it for her, but now I wish I’d left it well enough alone.”

They stood in silence and then she let out a deep sigh. “Are we doing the right thing?”

No matter how many times she asked it of him, or how often he asked it of himself, there was no answer to her question. This was a grand experiment and their only hope. The Paradine had come up with this plan after witnessing the end of the Universe. They’d nurtured the genetically modified Lambent Kith, overseen their joining with their celestial bodies, and offered their own lives across epochs to protect these younger, yet more mature, Avatars.

He’d worked with Avera from the beginning and helped her to raise Trance, Sol, and their two younger sisters so they’d understand their roles, falling in love with the family as time marched on. But no amount of work, or love, or care could change the truth. This was a process going into production with no trial run and no way to know the end result.

He kissed her first, a gentle chaste kiss, one that carried the weight of hundreds just like it. A kiss meant to comfort. “It’s the best we can do. The only chance we have to defeat the Abyss. You know it can’t win because if it does, it will take all of your people with it.”

She frowned, gazing back at him with half closed eyes as if she were looking to something beyond this room. She probably was. Before now, Captain Hunt had thought Trance’s resemblance to her was subtle, but he saw the woman he knew clearly in Avera now. “And if it doesn’t work, or the darkness finds another way as it is wont to do, what then?”

Captain Hunt forced his way through, though he kept hold of the woman he’d grown to love—no, that the Paradine had grown to love, not him. “I promise no matter what happens, no matter what the future holds, I will continue to protect her and guide her. And I promise you that when it is time, she will shine. She will put everything she feels behind her, she will push through her gentle nature and be the warrior the Universe needs her to be. If it all goes to hell, you don’t have to fear. I will always be there to help her find her way.”

 

********************

 

The dream lingered with him throughout the morning, clinging to him as he ran through the corridors for his morning exercise with feet pounding on the deck. It remained through a too hot shower and even his morning coffee couldn’t wake him from it. It distracted him while he did his captain's duty and bid the Triumvirs goodbye, and now it made the threads of his breakfast conversation with Beka and Rommie difficult to follow.

“Hey, Captain Space Case, you with us?” Beka eyed him expectantly, fork hanging in the air, a bite of fruit topped pancake skewered on it. Her eyebrows sloped down towards her nose and her forehead was knitted in concern. “Have a bit too much fun last night?”

Rommie sported a raised eyebrow, no less a look of concern for its reserved nature. He tried but could not remember what they’d been talking about.

He blinked and shook his head as if he could shake off the vestiges of love and loss that he didn’t understand but felt anyway. Of memories that were starting to crop up beyond his dreams, extending far past anything he’d seen in his nighttime travels. As if he could shake off the entire second life he’d lived and then forgotten. But what could he say to Beka and Rommie?

 _‘I think I was in love with Trance’s mother and helped raise Trance and her siblings’_ wasn’t great pancakes discussion. It might be too much to be believed. Even on this ship.

“Yeah, I’m here, I just didn’t sleep well. What’s going on?”

Beka’s eyes remained on him, but she didn’t pry. He could usually count on her to leave well enough alone. “We were talking about how upset Trance was last night and how it might not be a great idea to have Trance—”

“Or Harper,” Rommie interrupted.

“—Or Harper with us in the Tagris system. It might be too much to watch her people murder more of her people with no power to do anything about it... and Harper’s seen one too many planets explode already.”

The Tagris system, yet another concern. Things were getting bad a lot faster than they’d anticipated, spurned on by a government who’d not faced war or disaster in nearly three-hundred years and a populace that was rightfully panicking as everything they knew crumbled before them. They had two weeks.

Two weeks was also the amount of time left until the Rindrin signing ceremony because there couldn’t ever be only one pressing agenda item at a time. That’d be too easy. While it wasn’t a life or death situation like the Tagris System, it was a matter of political import. The Rindrin’s had chosen what they believed to be an auspicious day for the ceremony and planned an entire week’s worth of festivities surrounding it. The Andromeda’s crew were meant to be guests of honor. The Rindrins would understand if the most powerful ship in the High Guard fleet needed to aid in evacuating an entire system, but it’d be better if they could avoid disappointing them. Politics were sticky like that.

There was an obvious solution, but he wanted to hear from them first, a part of him always testing whether he could trust his senior officers to make the same decisions he would. “What were you thinking?”

He scooped up a forkful of fruit compote left on his plate after he’d eaten the pancakes away and savored its sweetness. The cooks were amazing and they’d be onboarding a few more today to keep up with his growing crew. At least some things were starting to feel like they used to. He could do with a bit of normal.

Beka snorted then smiled, looking amused. “Well, I _have_ to be on Rindra because we decided it was the perfect place to host a Nietzschean convention, but I think those two might appreciate a week of long walks along the beach at sunset. But, I’m concerned that if I take the lovebirds with me, you’ll be down to Doyle, Rhade, and Rommie on Command and an entire crew fresh out of the Academy.”

Guess everyone else had noticed last night, too, though Dylan had been impressed with the surprising amount of discretion Harper had shown.

“The new crew will have two weeks to get used to the position if they’ve been trained properly. There shouldn’t be any issues. I expect the Tagarians will be easier to evacuate than the Seefrans were, despite the turmoil they’re facing. They have always been an agreeable species.” Rommie said.

Dylan nodded, glad to see they were all on the same page. “I agree with you, Beka. It seems that the most obvious solution on how to balance the needs of the Tagris system and our obligations to the Rindrins.”

Beka stood. “Good, I’m glad that didn’t take much convincing. I’d love to stay and chat, but my new crew is scheduled to arrive in thirty minutes and I need to get ready.” She dropped her napkin down on the table, giving Dylan a harried look. He shrugged. There wasn’t much he could do about the Commonwealth’s decision to staff Andromeda, and it was for the best in the end.

As Beka worked to pull prides to her, so too did the Dragons. Reports of slave raids in areas close to Commonwealth territories were increasing, and there was evidence of increased output from Dragon controlled mining facilities across the Known Worlds. The Dragons were stockpiling the materials needed to build ships and weapons. The materials of war.

The pot was simmering again and the Commonwealth’s fleet was dangerously small after both the Nietzschean battle a few months ago, and the battle with the Worldship. And, while the Dragons and their allies built up resources, the Commonwealth was expending them on the Tagarian evacuation and resettlement effort. Even if Beka could get a sizeable group of Nietzscheans to add their ships to the High Guard fleet, Andromeda needed to be functioning as efficiently as possible, and she needed a crew for that.

Dylan flashed Beka a smile. “It’ll be fun. A whole new group of people for you to boss around and shout into submission.”

She rolled her eyes before turning around, tossing over her shoulder as she left, “Fun you say. I’ll show you fun.”

Dylan winked at Rommie. “She’s not really angry.”

Rommie shrugged. “It’s an adjustment everyone will need to make. Speaking of the new crew, Doyle will be helping me onboard and provision them today and tomorrow, then she’s scheduled to help the medics give everyone their physical exams.”

Her words reminded him of a third and fourth problem. What was he to do with the now Lieutenant Doyle and Lieutenant Commander Trance Gemini, both of them existing in a sort of limbo with undefined roles. It was a morning full of problems that needed solutions sooner rather than later.

“Great, I’ll hit you up later today to set up team meetups so I can give them a Captain’s welcome, but first I need to talk to Trance.” He stood and moved briskly towards the door. “And that is where I’m heading now.”

Rommie stepped in beside him with hands behind her back, a curious and unreadable expression on her face. “Does she know you’re coming?”

Dylan reached the ladder and shrugged before grasping the rungs to travel one deck down to Officer’s Quarters. “We usually take a walk after breakfast on Saturday, though I’d figured she’d sleep in this morning. It’s about the right time and she knows I wanted to talk to her. Why?”

“No reason.” Rommie replied. He had a sense that Rommie had more to say, but was holding back.

He pulled himself up onto the deck again. “She’s awake, right?”

Rommie followed.“Yes, she is awake.”

“And nothing is wrong?”

“Nope. Nothing is wrong. Trance is... perfectly fine.” A slight pause before perfectly caught his attention and struck him as odd, but he didn’t press it further because a pair of Nietzschean pride leaders from Terazed approached, guided by Rhade and followed by two bots carrying their luggage.

“Captain,” Rhade said with a nod.

“Commander,” he replied and turned to the ambassadors, the oddness in Rommie’s demeanor forgotten for a moment. “I hope you had a pleasant stay onboard.”

“We did, thank you. We look forward to working with you and the Matriarch closer in the future Captain Hunt. We don’t have many ships at the moment, but our fleet is yours should you need it.” The tallest, Marcus Cornelius if Dylan remembered correctly, answered.

“Thank you. It is good to know we have allies we can count on. Please, have a safe journey home. I will leave you in Rhade’s capable hands.”

A few steps down, Rommie spoke, “It seems that our Perseid retinue is in need of assistance, or more likely, simply desire to pick my brain on a number of subjects relating to my systems. I should go take care of that.” Her smile was thin, her displeasure at having to deal with what she considered neurotic nosiness and the Perseids considered polite inquiry apparent.

“Good luck. I’ll see you later.”

Left alone now, he strolled to Trance’s door and hit the chime. In the silence after the chime ended he reminisced on how strange it was that in the old days he never would have met members of his crew in their quarters. Only his first mate. Forcing his crew to come to him in his realm had been a policy designed to encourage professional distance—a laughable phrase now.

Nothing remotely resembling distance existed these days and he couldn’t help feeling that in following that policy he’d lost dozens of opportunities for meaningful connections over the years. Then again, it would have hurt that much more when he’d lost them all.

The door slid open, Trance behind it dressed in a simple purple tunic over darker purple leggings, her hair hanging damp and loose around her shoulders and her feet bare. In one had she gripped a hairbrush designed to quickly dry hair. Her eyes widened and her mouth formed a small ‘o’ before quickly morphing into a smile that, while not exactly welcoming, was friendly and unfeigned.

“Late start?” he asked.

“You could say that. Good morning.” She glanced behind her as if looking for something and turned her attention to him once again. “It is Saturday. I had forgotten.”

Like Rommie’s behavior earlier, something seemed off, like he was staring at a vase that had been pushed a half-a-centimeter from the center, hardly enough to notice, yet still disconcerting.

“I figured you’d sleep in this morning, but I have a few things I’d like to discuss, so I’d hoped you still be up for a walk.” He noticed that despite her discomfort last night she’d pinned her rank and both decorations to her collar.

“I–” she started, but was cut off.

“Hey Trance, do you have a toolkit?” From the lavatory came Harper, with pants on—thank God—but torso bare, hair wild, and a grey towel hanging around his neck. “I think I can fix the water pressure problem we were having.”

Oh.

He parsed Harper’s state of undress, the ‘we’ in his statement, Trance’s surprise upon opening the door, and Rommie’s earlier behavior, all at once. Then he remembered that when the two of them had left the party last night, they’d left together. How did he not put two and two together? Heat rose in his cheeks.

“Harper…” Trance said, unrealized laughter dancing in her voice, her lips forming an amused smile. Harper turned towards the door and did a double take, eyes widening, his mouth opening and shutting in a perfect impression of a fish.

“Oh, uh, hey Boss,” he finally choked out, backing up until he hit the bed, where he stooped  and picked up a t-shirt abandoned there. Harper struggled into it as if the Code Black klaxon were blaring and he had to be on Command in less than three minutes. Dylan averted his gaze, but not before seeing a tray with the remnants of two breakfast set aside on the nightstand. On the ground by his feet was an extra pair of boots and suit jacket dropped beside Trance’s shoes.

Fully clothed now, Harper slipped in beside Trance, scooping up his boots and jacket in one arm. A moment of indecision passed with Harper’s eyes jumping from Trance to Dylan before he gave Trance a quick and chaste peck on the lips. “On second thought, I’ll just come back later and fix it. Lemme know when you’re done?”

“Of course,” she replied, that glint of amusement still there.

Perhaps he should say something to ease Harper’s discomfort. But what? He wasn’t well practiced in situations like this, and Harper was jumpier than most. When nothing came to mind he threw on a reassuring smile. “I’ll only keep her for a while, then the rest of the day is yours.”

That at least got him to look a little less like he’d been caught in bed with the captain’s daughter, a smile thin with nerves taking over for panic-tinged embarrassment. As captain, this whole situation was his fault. He’d never set his expectations for romantic relationships with his senior officers despite the eventuality that either they’d become involved with each other—as had happened here—or with someone outside the crew. In nearly six years he’d never set out any sort of guidelines. Every time he’d thought about it, he’d put it off figuring there was time.

Well, time was up.

In the old days, he wouldn’t have had to worry. There’d been rules, both official and unspoken, that governed fraternization. In the old days, this wouldn’t have happened because senior officers kept a reasonable professional distance from one another and requested a transfer if that distance couldn’t be maintained. But this wasn’t the old days, and now there were a list of things he needed to address in the near future like living arrangements, public displays of affection, dangerous missions, or what to do when they inevitably had a fight.

Then again, maybe everything would just fall into place organically as often happened with this crew. He’d been amazed at their lack of discipline when they first joined up, and sometimes horrified at what Beka allowed her crew to get away with. He’d marveled that the Maru had gotten anything done at all. Now, there was no other group of people, no matter how frustrating their different worldviews could be, he would ever trust more in a pinch. This was simply one more thing in a long line of them that he’d have to get used to.

Trance’s smile shifted into something more tender, something meant only for Harper, and something akin to what he’d witnessed on Seefra when she’d been near Ione for a short time, but different still. Dylan shifted his gaze as she took Harper’s hands into hers and kissed him, giving them a moment of privacy. “I’ll see you in a bit, okay?”

Calmer now, Harper turned to leave and Dylan put a hand on his shoulder, figuring out something that might put Harper more at ease, an olive branch of acceptance. “We aren’t leaving Terazed until tomorrow and it’s your birthday. If you’d like, you two can take a slipfighter down to the planet and spend the afternoon there.”

Harper smiled, clearly surprised. “That’d be great, thanks.”

As Harper crossed the corridor to his own quarters Dylan turned his attention back to Trance, that soft smile lingering and lighting up her face as she watched Harper’s progress. He waited, and eventually, her attention was his.

“I’ll be just a moment. Do you want to come inside?”

Dylan shook his head, unwilling to invade her space even more after disrupting her morning. She wouldn’t hold it against him, she never did, but he could use a few moments to contemplate what had just happened as well. “Take your time. I’ll be fine out here.”

 

********************

 

Dylan stood tall just beyond her door, almost at attention, staring down the empty corridor at nothing in particular, at least nothing her eyes could detect. He looked every bit the stalwart, battle-seasoned captain now, his surprise and uncertainty from earlier tucked away.

It brought a smile to her face because as everything changed, Dylan could be counted on to be a fixed object to orbit around. Even when he had no clue how to handle a situation. He had one of those rare personalities that molded the Universe to his will instead of allowing it to shape him, and his own sort of gravity to pull people in. She’d always known this about him.

“I’m ready.”

“You’re amused.” There was no accusation in his words, only a statement of fact. Her eyes wandered to Harper’s door, imagining him digging through unsorted piles of clothes for something clean to wear or tinkering on something to take his mind off the embarrassment, his hands making deft movements over the machinery he cared for as much as she cared for her plants. There would be some soothing to do there later. They’d imagined letting the rest of the crew get used to their relationship as they got used to being in one. But feet first it would have to be.

“It’s nothing, really. You humans are just easily flustered when it comes to romantic relationships. It’s one of your most endearing qualities.” She winked and allowed her smile to grow, unable to resist the urge to tease a little. This couldn’t have come as a surprise to him. Not really. “Where to?”

“I was thinking Obs so we could chat a little if that’s alright with you.” He motioned for her to follow and she stepped in beside him. He kept his stride shorter, easier for her to keep up with. It’d been like this from the beginning of her recovery: him making allowances to make it easier and her not letting on that she knew.

“That sounds great.” They reached the first ladder. She took a breath and reminded herself Obs was only four decks down. For most, the ladders were the quickest route to almost anywhere they needed to be, but for her, they were still the largest challenge to her mobility, albeit one that grew easier to overcome every day. Dylan stepped in first, and she followed, gripping the rungs tightly, putting her trust in her muscles to carry her where she needed to be.

“He is worried because he cares a great deal what you think about him. He looks up to you,” she said as they climbed.

“I can’t say I don’t have concerns. I mean, it’s Harper.”

She laughed, giving in to a little more good-natured ribbing, trying to bring out a bit of the fluster she’d seen earlier. “Yes. I am well aware of who I took to bed last night.”

It worked. His cheeks reddened and he did not reply right away.

The next deck down was a buzz of excited voices and uniformed bodies weighed down with full knapsacks rushing about like a nest of insects had been disturbed. Andromeda’s face flashed from communication nodes up and down the corridor as her voice called out instructions to the new recruits. They paused for a moment to take it all in. A pair of fresh-faced ensigns stopped and saluted.

“Captain. Commander,” a Nietzschean man with an even tan and neatly parted hair, said, nodding to each of them in turn.

“As you were,” Dylan replied, then served them his brightest smile. “Welcome onboard.”

“Thank you, Captain. Ensign Devi, I can’t speak for anyone else, but I’m proud to serve on the Andromeda. She’s the ship of the line, and almost everyone was fighting to get stationed here,” the woman beside him said.

Somewhere inside all of the wires and data chips that served as her giant brain, Andromeda must have been smiling, and it made Trance happy to hear her friend getting the praise she deserved.

“We’re glad to have you, too,” Trance said because it seemed like she should say something. She was happy that the Commonwealth was stronger now, that there were more recruits signing up to join the High Guard every semester at the Academy, that more contractors chose to dedicate their skill and knowledge to benefit the Commonwealth. She was happy that Dylan was happy, even if it meant a great deal of adjustment for the rest of them.

It was the season for adjustments it seemed.

After the two eager young soldiers had been dispatched, Dylan took to the ladders again and she followed, returning to their earlier conversation as if they hadn’t been interrupted.

“You’re afraid he will hurt me,” she said.

The next deck was a lot quieter, mostly Rommie’s bots with arms full of linens and carts stacked with pillows, dishes, and other items necessary for daily living. Tomorrow this deck, too, would be filled, this time with the first crop of Lancers from the newer training grounds on Xinti. They continued on their way.

“You have to admit, his track record isn’t great.” Dylan spoke the words gently, and had she been in his position, or even Beka’s, she’d probably have the same reservations. The number of times Harper’s heart had been broken, he’d broken another’s heart, or he’d gotten in trouble because of a woman was rather large, and she’d only known him seven years.

“Neither one of us went into this lightly or without a great deal of reflection,” she reassured. The next deck remained quiet and vacant. She paused there, catching Dylan’s eyes. “Do you doubt he loves me?”

Dylan answered quickly. Not a moment of hesitation. “Of that, I have no doubt. It’s clear how much he loves you. It’s just that he is so inexperienced and—”

“Emotional?” she asked, allowing a smile to settle on her face and her feelings to swell her heart, for once unburdened by her fears and doubts or that small but mighty internal voice that told her she shouldn’t feel the way she did. She winked as Dylan made to descend the final deck. “I kind of like it.”

“You said that your people’s children love chaos, but sometimes I think you never grew out of it.”

At the bottom of the final ladder, they paused again, giving her a chance to catch her breath and rest her muscles. They were tired and had grown shaky, but she’d made it. Everyday it got a little bit easier.

“Chaos does keep life interesting. Maybe a little too interesting.”

This deck was active too, and as the central recreational space it was expected. Still, there were more people milling about than she’d ever seen on Andromeda before. Dylan seemed to feed off the energy, his smile growing as he observed everyone moving about. Many of these faces had the casual familiarity of those she’d grown used to seeing around the halls, but there were plenty of new ones mixed in. She and Dylan’s conversation halted in lieu of hellos and salutes from the crew as they passed through.

Automatic deference was another thing she had to get used to, or rather, get used to again. Here, she was a soldier, not a princess. A decorated Command officer and department head. The result was the same. She’d grown accustomed to, and comfortable with, being treated as either an equal or a subordinate. This adjustment would take more time.

Ironically, as a part of the Nebula, she’d longed to be seen, to be herself, but she’d had to hide, even from her friends. Now she’d never wanted to hide more and had no choice but to stand out. Even if she weren’t a CO, and they hadn’t pinned honors to her collar last night, no one had ever seen anyone like her before. Her differences, the sparkling skin of her people, thrust her into the spotlight, as the second glances some of the newer officers gave her showed.

Outside the Observation Deck, Doyle passed by with a cluster of at least two dozen officers. She and Rommie both had a full Saturday and Sunday scheduled of orientations. She’d only gotten out of it by being off-duty and Harper because today was his birthday.

“This is Obs Deck, it’s closed at this time every weekend for the use of the senior staff and during a window in the evenings on weekdays as well, but is otherwise free to use if there are no events scheduled. If you’ll follow me, the Crew Mess is this way. The chefs prepare a variety of options every day to meet different dietary needs, but if you want something not on the menu, we are also equipped with several auto-chef units…” Doyle didn’t stop speaking but nodded her acknowledgment. Trance gave her a smile of encouragement, feeling a twinge of guilt at how grateful she was to get out of it.

“Is there a new Chief Medical Officer in today’s group?” Trance asked as they slipped into the quiet calm of the Observation Deck. It was a rare occurrence to catch Dylan so off-guard it stopped him in his tracks and she’d managed it twice in less than an hour. While this was not a light subject, and the conversation would hurt, she smiled because there was power in being both observant and unpredictable. A power all her own.

“No, I couldn’t put in the request for one without speaking to you first. How’d you know?”

It’d been a wise choice to come here. With the stars taking up the entire front and trees in raised white planters dotting the room, it was her second favorite place on Andromeda. These walls had been witness to countless chats, midnight snacks, and friendly games of cards over the years. If hard conversations must be had, at least they could be had someplace where laughter and goodwill clung to the walls. She made her way to her favorite tree near the front with its long, feather-like leaves and lowered herself onto the planter wall, Dylan close behind.

The smile grew heavier as she contemplated what to say and how to give up yet another part of herself with grace so Dylan didn’t have to carry the burden of taking it away. She forced her lips to remain in place, the muscles of her cheeks twitching with the effort. “There are not enough hours in the day for me to work on everything I did before, and with a crew this large, my compromised immune system is a bit of a liability on Med Deck. The thought occurred to me weeks ago, but I only recently admitted it to myself. I knew you must have seen it too.”

“I’m sorry.”

Those two simple words, so full of love and concern, broke her control. She looked out to the stars, bright against their backdrop of empty space. How they shined. She closed her eyes to them but could still see their spots imprinted in her vision. She let the smile drop away. Why did she pretend? When she opened her eyes again, the stars were still there, unchanged. Solid and eternal—or so they seemed. Only she among those surrounding her could appreciate how they lived and died the same as all living things. Only she could really perceive and process time at that scale, having lived it.

“It must be this way. All things change and I’ve never had the power to stop time’s inexorable march forward, no matter how much I’ve wished to.” She turned back to Dylan, meeting his eyes, steadying herself with a breath, reminding herself that not all change was bad or unwelcome—as the last two days had proved—that this might lead her down the path to a brighter future, even if she could not see it right now.

“I would still like you to be my physician, and I’m sure the others feel the same, but I can’t risk your health with every cold that passes through these bulkheads.”

“But you haven’t picked a replacement,” she said and read his expression. Her mouth fell open, and surprise colored voice. “You haven’t even told the Commonwealth you need one. Will I resume the role when we intervene in the Tagris system?”

He hesitated and in the lines of his face, she could read his answer to this question, too.

“You aren’t taking me with you. Harper either?”

He shook his head. “No, you and Harper are going to accompany Beka to Rindra to participate in the signing ceremony. Andromeda committed to being there together, but they will have to settle for three senior officers instead.”

An argument rose to her lips but stopped short of escaping. As Harper would say, it was a no-brainer to remove him from the equation—though she suspected he would argue with her assessment in this instance. In fact, Rindra probably wasn’t far enough. His wounds ran deep and were barely sutured. He didn’t need to be in the Tagris System to watch her people destroy several more worlds.

But the more she ran over her reasons for Harper to stay away, the more she realized they were the exact arguments Dylan would use for her. A few details would change, but it all came down to the same thing: her people had taken so much from both of them that Dylan was worried this might cause them to relive those horrors. And could she really argue with an injector of anti-panic medication in her pocket? She didn’t even know how deep her cuts were, or what might happen if they were suddenly ripped open, so how could she insist he allow her to risk it? Yet somehow, as the former leader of her people, she thought she should be there to witness their deaths, to try and eke out some meaning in them.

So she gave the only paper-thin argument she could. “You cannot go into the Tagris system without a Chief Medical Officer. The medics are smart and capable, but they need a leader. They don’t have the wealth of knowledge needed to handle potential casualties at that level. There is already fighting on the ground, radiation sickness, and I’m sure that is just scratching the surface.”

It was Dylan’s turn to look to the stars for guidance. It was the power of this place, and why Observation Deck was such a great space for meditation. In the infinite vastness of space, one could search for answers. They were rarely found out there, usually residing much closer to home, but sometimes if one searched long enough, one could see their own soul illuminated by millions of burning suns. “I know, and it isn’t an easy decision to add someone new to our team. We’ve brought on a few more officers to fill in the gaps. We have an armsmaster and a quartermaster now, for example, but you guys, my Command staff—we’ve just been doing things our way for so long now…”

Five years ago he would have done anything to return to familiar structures of the High Guard and yet, here he was, reluctant to shake things up again. Perhaps too much had changed and he too was clinging to the illusion of stability. The seeds of an idea she’d been mulling around unconsciously since Beka’s injury began to sprout. A possible solution to this problem.

“I read quite some time ago that before the Commonwealth fell, they’d been talking about assigning medical avatars to ships like Andromeda.”

He met her eyes again, then folded his hands together and brought them to his mouth. He tapped his lips a few times before lowering his hands to his lap and speaking. “You’re thinking Doyle.” Another beat passed and then he nodded. “It could work, but the powers that be were concerned that AIs didn’t have the instincts of organic physicians.”

“Between you and me, I think that is something organics say because it frightens them that AIs might be just as capable as they are, or more, in almost every situation. There is nothing wrong with Rommie and Doyle’s instincts and Doyle has been invaluable to me since I woke, both nursing me to health and acting as my nurse.”

Dylan moved to the railing in front of the viewport and leaned against it, his hands folded in front of him, the lines outline of his face highlighted by the stars. She followed and mirrored his pose, her face turned so she could watch his. The vulnerability painted there was something reserved for her alone, something he didn’t show the rest of the crew. “You’re probably right.”

“She needs a place. They made her a full member of our crew last night, but she doesn’t have a role to call her own. You’ve been using her as a second Rommie and she’s not. She’s just as lost as the rest of us and will never figure out who she is in Rommie’s shadow.”

“I’ll consider it. She isn’t the only one who needs to find a place out here in this Universe, you know.”

Try as she might force the focus onto others, Dylan was determined to keep the conversation on her this morning. She shifted on the balls of her feet and pressed her palms tighter together, averting her gaze so that all she could see was how the lights reflected off her folded hands.

“I know being presented with the Order of the Vedran Empress made you uncomfortable, and I wish they’d let me know so I could make it easier on you, but I wouldn’t have stopped them,” he continued.

No, he wouldn’t have. Of course, he wouldn’t have because he believed people should be recognized for their sacrifices, and she didn’t disagree—usually.

Still, she remained silent.

“The Order of the Vedran Empress ensures a future for you and the comfortable retirement that you have already earned. It means you will be considered first for any position within the Commonwealth you are qualified for and it gives you a voice on the political stage. When it is time to leave Andromeda, you’ll never want for anything.”

These were not things she’d considered last night. She looked up at Dylan with brows knitted, a deep frown pulling at her lips.

“It’s ironic; I’ve spent my entire life concerned with the future, living in it and walking millions of pathways in the search for perfection, yet I do not know how to plan for my own. When I try to search now, all I see is this dark emptiness, like the space between the stars.”

He turned to her now and took her hands in his. “You never did like not knowing. It always frustrated you when you couldn’t see which path to follow, but I promise I will always be there to help you find your way.”

There was something in his tone that forced her to push aside her inner turmoil and focus all her attention on him. Her gaze bored into his, studying his blue eyes for clues. They watched her, unwavering, and an overwhelming sense of deja vu overtook her. It was as if she’d stepped into one of the visions she missed so much, only this time instead of stepping into the future, she’d fallen into the past.

A stone bridge over a fast-moving stream replaced Obs Deck. The wind whipped at her short hair leaves blown from the ancient trees surrounding them and crashing against her skin, some sticking there for a moment, before moving on, as if running from the coming storm. The planet she’d tended to for as long as she could remember almost seemed to respond to her emotions. This was where she had met Dylan, so in a way, it seemed right that it was where they’d say goodbye.

“You’re leaving,” she accused, angrier than she’d ever been before. Her mother was dying, and he was leaving her, and her child-like mind, no matter how old it actually was, could not conceive of anything more important than him staying with her and her siblings after their mother’s death.

“I have to go. I want to stay, but I can’t. You know we both have our roles to fill and you need to take your place in the Nebula. We’ll see eachother again.”

“But you told my mother I won’t remember you. Why won’t I remember you?”

He sighed. “You were eavesdropping on my conversation with your mother this afternoon.” He’d chided her more than once for listening in when she wasn’t supposed to, and her mother would be furious to know she’d spied on such a personal moment, but curiosity had always been too strong an urge to resist. She found it difficult to care about right and wrong as her comfortable life teetered on the brink of more change than she could process.

“I don’t know why you won’t remember. I only know you won’t,” he said, stepping forward and taking her hands in his. His were icy and he must have been cold all over with the freezing wind whipping at them the way it was. Winter seemed to be fighting to maintain control as Spring marched in, and that too was fitting. This was not a time for flowers.

Cold or not, he didn’t complain.

“Please stay. I’m scared.” Tears leaked from her eyes unchecked, streaking down to her chin and collecting there. “I do not know how I am supposed to do this alone. There are so many paths. What if I choose the wrong one to follow.” She shivered even though the cold shouldn’t have affected her.

He squeezed her hands tightly. “You won’t be alone. I will be there to help you find your way.” Then he kissed her head. “I will always be there to help you find your way. Always.”

As abruptly as the vision had come, it was gone, the forest once more becoming the grey walls and domed ceiling of Obs, its gently circulating air on the cool side of comfortable, the potted plants motionless.

“Trance? Are you alright?”

She blinked and took a few steadying breaths, her eyes searching the room once more before falling on Dylan’s again. “I just–I think I just remembered something.”

He took a deep breath and let go of her hands. For a moment he stood before her, feet glued to the deck plates until he mastered whatever emotion had frozen him and took a seat once more on the planter. He massaged his temples then motioned for her to sit. She, too, found it difficult to move. There were secrets being surfaced here, and it was just as uncomfortable to know that some part of her past as hidden as her future.

Yet, a sense that this moment was important, that it had meaning, pulled her forward.

“You know something.” There was nothing else she could say.

“I’ve been having dreams for months now. I’m on this beautiful planet and you are there with your mother and brother. I am not myself entirely, I—”

“Exist in two times at once,” she finished. A door had been unlocked inside her mind and behind it was Dylan and an indistinct childhood, blurred through a warped lens, and slightly different than the one she’d remembered yesterday. “I don’t understand, but in a strange way it makes sense. I always wondered why the Nebula sent me to you if they did not trust me. They tested me over and over, and every time, I defied them. So, they’d punish me and test me again. When it came time and they still had no control over me, they left me imprisoned in an unpleasant situation with only my sight and a command to find Beka who would lead me to you. They must have known I was the only one you would trust.”

Silence fell between them and she pondered the timing of these memories. There was an itching in the back of her mind she couldn’t reach to scratch and portents here she couldn't read. But perhaps it was just her frustration at being blind to the future. Dylan was right about that, she’d never liked being blind.

Still.

“I feel something changing the way the air comes to life just before the dawn. That hour before you see the first sliver of light on the horizon. Everything is different now, but I do not think we have seen the real change yet. There is a reason all of this is happening now. A reason we are remembering. A reason war is brewing and the Nebula is making their move.”

Dylan nodded slowly as if he too felt it. “There’s an old human adage. The night is darkest before the dawn.”

Her eyes wandered to the stars outside again, twinkling at her from the past, a past where Dylan now resided. A past where she’d lost her mother, her protector, and her independence at the same time. One she needed to both remember clearly and put behind her because if she didn’t it would hold her back. Another, similar, human adage came to mind.

 _The candle burns brightest before it dies_.

If she lived out the rest of her lifespan, it could be another seventy or eighty years per Rommie’s research, but in a life that had spanned epochs, it was no time at all. This was her end, and she wondered if she was meant to shine. Taken from her sun, was it possible there was still one more sunrise left inside of her? She could not articulate the feelings, the swirling of emotion that told her she wasn’t done, that this change involved her in some way—involved all of them.

“Are you ever afraid because you cannot see the future, but you know you have some role to play in it, that the Universe is not done with you yet?”

“Every day,” he said. She met his half-lidded gaze and fidgeted under it. It seemed he’d lived one too many lifetimes himself as a heavy sigh escaped, and his hand found her knee, squeezing. “But we will end this journey, no matter where it takes us, the same way we started it. Together as a crew—as a family.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Though they probably won't see this, I want to help TinyOctopus and Corru for helping talk me down from a heavy dose of writing anxiety. I also want to give bLhuez a huge thank you for going through and reassuring me that the Trance and Dylan scene was flowing fine when I was convinced it wasn't, I hope you enjoyed the rest of it. You all rock so much.
> 
> And Taff, I know you're reading! Thanks, as always, for all of your encouragement.
> 
> <3 <3 <3 <3


	23. Interlude: Maru

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Welcome back! This story is back in action with once a month updates. If my backlog grows sufficiently through my other projects I will move down to every two weeks, but I want to leave room for my other projects to breathe. Thanks for sticking with me this far!

“Cupcake? Muffin? Pumpkin?” Harper asked. Beka looked up from her flexi and twisted in her pilot’s chair so she could see Harper where he leaned against the engineering console, a teasing grin curling up the sides of his mouth. For a second, she saw him as he was weeks after he arrived on the Maru, twenty-years-old with all the bravado of a kid who knew the Universe couldn’t knock him down because it’d tried and he’d survived. Invincible. Loud. Full of energy. If she closed her eyes, she could almost be back on the Maru listening to Trance and Harper’s endless chatter and equally endless flirtations. She was happy for him, really. For both of them. After all this time, he’d finally found love, and it wasn’t a random fling from a backwater drift brought home to meet the family like she and Dylan had feared. Over the last two weeks some of the heaviness weighing both of them down had lifted, making it clear that they were good for each other.

But enough was enough. 

From her vantage, Trance wasn’t visible, but her expression couldn’t be anything other than incredulous. How many horrible pet names had Harper offered at this point? At least a dozen. Each one turned down with varying amounts of grace, something her friend seemed to have a limitless supply of. Had to, really, for a relationship with Harper to work.

“Isn’t a pumpkin a fat, orange gourd?” Beka asked, raising an eyebrow and earning a bubbly giggle from Trance at her station.

Harper, visible out of the corner of her eye, shrugged. “Okay, not pumpkin.  What about Sugar Plum, Honey Bun, Sweetie Pie, Flapjack, or Buttercup?”

With a full-bellied laugh, Trance lost her composure. Beka stood to see Trance red-faced from laughter and clutching the console to remain upright. Harper looked on, utterly self-satisfied. Between breaths, she tried to speak, “Harper… I…” But it was to no avail.

Beka rolled her eyes but couldn’t contain her own smile, even as she shook her head. “What the hell is a flapjack, anyway?”

“It’s, like… a pancake.” At this, he had enough compunction to blush and shoot a sheepish smile in her direction. At least he knew how ridiculous it was.

A pancake? Honestly. “She’s not a snack, you know; she has an actual name. Why do all of these involve food, anyway? If you’re that hungry you can go cook lunch.”

“Hey, that last one’s a flower. Trance likes flowers.”

This only encouraged Trance. Beka allowed her own laughter to bubble up to the surface. Yes, just like old times, but if this went on much longer she’d sprain her eyeballs from rolling them.

“Okay kids, maybe you should go find something useful to do instead of cluttering the cockpit? We have six hours to our next jump.”

Redirection was a mistake. Trance had calmed enough to catch Harper’s eye, and a glint of mischief passed between them. A look that said: Beka is suitably irate right now, why not press her buttons some more? Sounds like a good time.

Harper dashed from his station and she fell victim to the quick pick-pocket reflexes she’d relied on in the past as he snatched her flexi. “So, whatcha reading, Boss?”

No doubt he expected to find a steamy romance novel to read aloud—as he’d done often in the past. Instead, it contained the profile of one Atticus Valerio, Grand Vizier of the Sterling Pride. Not much better.

With twelve worlds to call their own, advanced technologies that rivaled some of the Commonwealth’s, and a fleet of hundreds, Sterling was the largest pride attending this shindig on Rindra. They’d weathered the fall of the Commonwealth and the ensuing chaos by keeping to their corner of the Universe and avoiding the politics of other Nietzschean prides, but their population was shrinking steadily. They were looking to establish themselves in a position and power to attract new blood. Rhade was convinced Atticus would see the benefit in tying himself to the Matriarch.

The profile itself wasn’t the issue. Standard braggadocio: how many wives he’d laid claim to; the number of children carrying his name; and his contributions to Sterling society. He was strong, intelligent, and ruthless; everything a Nietzschean should be. The kind of information Harper would usually toss aside and disregard with a disparaging comment or two about Nietzschean society. Unfortunately, this profile also included a provocative, bare-chested, full body photo that left little to imagination. An image she’d been appreciating before Harper snatched it from her hands.

And Harper, that little brat, knew it. The Drago Kasov would bow before her and name her Empress before Harper would let it slide. He whistled and jumped over to Trance’s station.

“I’m just doing some research before I open up negotiations tomorrow afternoon.” A weak attempt to cover up for herself.

“I bet she wants to open up negotiations. Close, personal, negotiations,” he said to Trance and brought his fists together, making kissing noises. How much emotional distress would it cause Trance if she rung his scrawny little neck right here in the cockpit? She wouldn’t want to get on Dylan’s bad side, after all.

“Harper.” Trance’s admonishment was half-hearted, at best. Mischief glinted in her eyes as she grabbed the flexi. Eyebrows raised to her hairline. The twitching at the side of her mouth, at least, said Beka wasn’t alone in her appreciation of Atticus’ physique. Trance always did like pretty things. “Though, I’m not surprised. Check out his  _ ass _ -ets. They’d be a boon to the Commonwealth when the Dragons start flexing  _ their _ muscles.”

The emphasis was not missed. Beka crossed her hands across her chest and tapped her foot against the deck. “Okay,  you’ve had your fun. Go ahead and hand it back now.”

Instead, Harper took it again and made a great show of studying the document, holding it up to his nose and scrolling down where there were more glamour shots. Damn Nietzscheans and their love affairs with their images. “I bet he even has a really big—”

There had to be something to throw. A second flexi, the actual romance novel she’d been saving for later, lay beside the pilot's chair. She lobbed it at him, careful to miss Trance. He ducked and it hit the bulkhead with a thunk and an accompanying giggle.

“Fleet! I was going to say fleet!” he defended as he shot back up, that stupid grin still in place.

“You know what, you can go back to torturing your girlfriend. Go make lunch, or make out, or something. Just go away.”

There wasn’t much power in a command delivered through congenial laughter. They remained together at Trance’s console instead of vacating the premises. Harper whispered something into Trance’s ear and she laughed again. Beka shook her head and flopped down on her chair with a sigh and a smile that stubbornly decided to stay on her face despite her so-called friends turning on her. A moment later the flexi landed on her lap and she rolled her eyes.

“Exactly how old are you again?” she called over her shoulder before picking it up and turning it on. A beep interrupted her.

“We’re getting a transmission from Andromeda. They are at a six-minute delay. I’ll have it downloaded in another minute.” Trance announced, her tone changing to business.

Beka leaned back in her chair and made herself comfortable. “It’s probably just Rhade with yet another piece of intel he forgot to impart before we left.”

Rhade made a pretty good mother hen. Sometimes she wondered over the amount of hovering his children had to suffer through when he was home. Last night she’d watched him help his eldest—an eight-year-old girl with shoulder-length black hair and eyes exactly like his—with her math homework during the late shift on Command. It’d been adorable but also a reminder that she didn’t ever want to be tied down to a spouse and children. Must be exhausting to constantly battle his sense of duty and adventure with his familial responsibilities. Family was everything to a Nietzschean, yet she didn’t need anything more than what she had here and the occasional warm body to share her bed. Children? The early days with Trance and Harper had been enough.

How could she lead a people whose values she didn’t share and whose entire purpose in life was foreign and undesirable to her?

“Nah, it’s probably Doyle freaking out again with another hundred questions for Trance. When I was uploading all of that medical knowledge I should’ve toned down her anxiety response because she has been _high_ _strung_ all week.”

Beka twisted around again, wrinkling her nose and brow into a look of disapproval, ready to make a quip about turning up  _ his _ anxiety response, but Trance was already on it.

“No, you shouldn’t have. I could open you up and reprogram you during a routine check-up, would you like that?” The softness of her expression lessened the blow of her words. Harper gulped, probably remembering how skilled Trance was at brain surgery. His fault for falling in love with a dangerous woman. Not that Harper fell for anything but dangerous women.

“Oh, could you make him quieter?” Beka asked, enjoying the teasing more now that Harper was the target.

“I could probably make him think he was the Vedran Empress.” Her eyes were on Harper, studying his face, always aware, in a way Beka couldn’t understand, of where to draw the line—always reading the people around her. In another life, Trance would have made an amazing leader for her people. She’d certainly do a much better job of ruling than Beka.

Better not to worry. To stay in the moment. “Do you hear that? And she  _ likes _ you.”

“Yeah, yeah,” Harper grumbled, then placed a kiss on Trance’s cheek. “You know I’d never to that to Doyle. I love her just the way she is, neurosis and all.”

“Good.” Trance smiled back at him. “There is nothing wrong with Doyle. It’s perfectly natural to worry when you are faced with a disaster of unprecedented proportions in your second week on the job. She’s doing great, considering.”

“She really is.” Beka sighed, then turned forward again, a twinge of guilt tugging at her heart. The Tagarians needed all the help they could get. She had an extra slip-capable ship, but instead of running refugees she was out playing diplomat. Dylan had reminded her in a horrifying moment of truth that this wasn’t going to be an isolated incident. They’d have even more than rogue suns to worry about if the Dragons gathered too many under their banner before the Commonwealth could fortify and rebuild their fleet.  But it didn’t  _ feel _ like she was doing anything while attending a week-long party on the foremost hospitality planet in the Tri-Galaxies.

A beeping from Trance’s console signified the message had arrived.

“Well, it is Rhade, but the message is for Harper, not you Beka. I have a second message with an attachment now coming through on a secure channel. I’ll have that in just a moment.”

“Wanna take this alone?” Beka asked, extending the courtesy.

“Nah, throw it up on the main screen.” Curiosity colored his words. Then, presumably, because the person he was giving orders to was Trance and he felt some obligation to be polite, he added, “Pretty please with sugar on top?”

“Onscreen now,” Trance said as Rhade’s image appeared, framed by Command. Crew members went about their business behind him. In the corner of the screen, Rommie tapped a console, only looking up for a brief moment when Rhade began to speak.

“Harper, figures you just left on a week-long mission, but a transmission just came through for you. It contains multiple levels of encryption and its source is buried in that encryption, but I have a feeling it’s what you’ve been waiting for. I’m going to send it to you over a secure channel. Rommie says you should be able to decrypt it yourself. Have fun out there.” Here he looked at something offscreen and then back, his expression becoming more friendly than businesslike. “Have fun this week, and good luck.”

“You too, buddy.” Harper muttered back, barely loud enough to hear as the screen went black and was replaced with internal sensor readouts. Neither Trance nor Harper was any happier than she was about heading away from trouble, but they’d accepted their fate with no argument, smart enough to see why no one wanted them anywhere near the Tagris system.

“How long until the attachment is here?” Harper asked. If she turned, no doubt, he’d be bouncing on the balls of his feet.

Thankfully, Trance had enough patience for both of them. “Another minute, where do you want me to transfer it?”

“How about once it is downloaded you take it to the back and get to work on it while Trance gets lunch ready, that way she’s there to help you.” And Beka could get back to her research in peace.

The fact he didn’t complain about Trance’s poor cooking skills, even playfully, said more than words.

 

********************

 

“What was the last encryption key for the English?” Trance asked. She sat cross-legged on her bunk, flexis surrounding her, staring down at one held on her lap, finger tapping and sliding across the screen every so often. Harper manned the workstation between the galley and berth, transmitting what he had to her as he worked, breaking through the layers of outward encryption piece by piece to get to the coded English inside.

“One sec. It’ll be different this time, but related.” He tapped a few more commands and sent the key to Trance. The Maru’s databases, despite being updated by Andromeda years ago, weren’t as robust and her processors much slower. Until this moment, Harper hadn’t truly appreciated how helpful Trance’s knowledge of languages could be. If she could use the key to figure out the encryption and translate the message within, it would cut out hours of processing time.

Not to say he didn’t already appreciate her for the sheer depth of her intelligence. It was one of the hottest things about her. He’d met very few women who could keep up with him at his level. He’d almost resigned himself to building the perfect woman. Which he had. Twice. Only to have their free will interfere—and he wouldn’t have it any other way. While Trance’s knowledge of mechanical things left much to be desired, she could handle almost anything else he threw at her, and then some.

“Got it. I think I’m already seeing a pattern.”

“How? It’s not supposed to be easy to break?”

“After you’ve learned a few hundred languages it gets easier to pick up the nuances that separate one language from a similar language. Encryption is kind of like that.” Her voice held an air of that innocent nonchalance she’d had when she first joined the Maru crew, and he didn’t think it was feigned.

“You’re amazing, you know that right? I can’t believe you could speak thousands of languages and never once let on, like, you could have helped us with so many deals and so many heis… Hey, wait a second, all those systems you just broke through, or those times when someone miraculously gave you a better deal—that wasn’t just luck, was it?” He realized he was getting a little too animated and took a step back toward his workstation, tucking away the accusatory finger he’d pointed at her.

She shrugged and tossed him an amused smile the way she always did when he caught on to one of her old secrets. It would probably take as many years as he’d known her to unravel them all, but it had become a game. He preferred it to both evasions of the past.  “I may have helped one or two deals along behind the scenes. I’m not really all that lucky, just sneaky.”

“Why don’t you speak English?” She asked after a few minutes of working in silence, pulling his attention to her. Her gaze bored into him. “I know the Dragons aren’t too happy about people learning it, but there are hundreds of colonies that still speak various dialects and derivatives. Your own dialect of Common is heavily influenced by it.” She motioned at her flexi. “Plus, the resistance uses it.”

He sighed, abandoned his console, and sank down beside her, pushing away flexis haphazardly without even thinking that she might have had them organized in a specific way. “My dad tried to teach me, but I was too busy.” He couldn’t for the life of him remember now what had been so damn important that he couldn’t spend an hour a day learning what his dad wanted to teach him. “Besides, I suck at learning languages. You know that.”

In the dark brown of her eyes, he saw a spark of something like understanding, but she looked away, down to her lap. A moment later she scooted closer until their thighs were pressed together. She hesitated at the faded line of a former boundary before crossing it and taking his hand, letting their joined hands rest on his lap. Trance’s public displays of affection were more reserved than his and it seemed that over the last two weeks they’d had to navigate these old boundaries and draw new ones every day. All part of figuring out what it meant to be a couple when they lived and worked in the same small space.

“When we are young, it isn’t often that we understand what our parents want to teach us. Or why.” 

He sighed. “I miss them even more since Earth. It’s like… like knowing nothing is there anymore—that their graves aren’t even there… I guess I just regret every moment I didn’t spend with them, you know?” A lifetime of platitudes rang in his ears and he imagined the words forming in Trance’s mind, dancing on the tip of her tongue. He didn’t want to hear them, so he filled the silence with words. “I know. I know you can’t change the past; what’s done is done—all that jazz. But it doesn’t make it any easier.”

She shook her head slowly. “No, it doesn’t.” Wrinkles formed above her nose and she tapped her leg with her free hand. A deep breath, and then, “I spent the last years of my mother’s life arguing with her. I’ve since learned that is typical of adolescents in many species, but I sometimes wish I could go back and apologize. Or do things differently. I miss her; especially now.”

There was a lot packed into her comments—a lot that he didn’t have the mental facilities to handle at the moment, but he made a note to hit on it later. She’d understand even if he never circled back, but he was  _ trying _ . He really was.

Now she forced a smile. A perfect thing because it was just for him. He could see and appreciate how hard it’d been to pull off. How, once again, she was putting aside her feelings and personal demons to help him.

“I can teach you if you want to learn. I’m a patient teacher.” The smile shifted into something a little more sincere with a hint of teasing in it. “Very patient.”

Guided by something he didn’t have words for, he caught her lips with his, seeking connection and intimacy. A warm palm cupped his cheek as she returned his kiss, all reticence from earlier gone. The ghost of a boundary now fully erased.

He’d always craved the touch of a woman but hadn’t understood why. After a lifetime of deprived of simple, intimate gestures, he hadn’t understood the power of them until two weeks ago. It had always felt right to let a woman share his bed, but waking up next to the same woman every morning was something entirely different. A heated make-out session in the back alley behind a bar didn’t hold the same power as sharing a kiss because he was hurting, or because he was happy, or just because Trance was there and he wanted to let her know he’d been thinking about her. Nothing he’d experienced in the quick flings of the past could compare to having her hand in his as they walked through hydroponics together, or to snuggling on the couch after a long day, chatting about nonsense. He’d missed these moments his entire adult life—had walked around with a hole dug deep into his soul, desperate to fill it, without knowing what  _ it _ was.

He pulled back reluctantly, unwillingly, and took a deep breath to fill his empty lungs. “I love you. Thanks—thanks for offering.”

It wasn’t an answer. Wasn’t even an adequate response. For someone who could talk his way in and out of a number of situations, he’d discovered he had one surprising deficiency in the communications department. Every single day, without any preamble or expectation, Trance went out of her way to do things for him. Sometimes it was small, like remembering he liked extra butter for his rolls when she ordered dinner. Other times, she offered to teach him the language of his ancestors knowing full well the emotional landmine she was walking into and how much of a jerk he could be when frustrated.

The giant, overactive brain that helped him not just survive but thrive in a place that had killed better men could not come up with a way to tell her how much he appreciated her. Or how happy he was that her beautiful face was the last thing he saw before falling asleep every night. Lately, it couldn’t even figure out how he’d gotten here, but he wasn’t about to complain. Perhaps the Universe had finally decided to smile on Seamus Harper, but just in case it was a mistake, he chose not to tempt fate.

She nodded and patted his knee, reading the subtext. “The offer doesn’t expire. If you’re ever ready, let me know.”

He tossed her a small half smile, brought her hand up to his lips, kissed it, then let go. “We should get back to work.”

 

********************

 

The work, it turned out, was a stupid waste of time. He heard it in Trance’s tone when she announced she was finished. The death of his hopes was written in the lines on her forehead. For the second time, he upset Trance’s organization to sit beside her. She passed the flexi, an apology etched into her expression. He tried to keep his heart from sinking down to his boots because he should never have let his hopes inflate. Finding them on the first attempt would have been miraculous. Against his better judgment, he’d let himself believe he was owed a miracle. Owed a few of them, if his scorecard were up to date.

No luck.

It opened with inquiries for intel. The resistance sought confirmation on rumors about the Andromeda Ascendant and the Commonwealth, especially the presence of one Nietzschean Matriarch hell-bent on abolishing slavery. They ranged from things that could easily be confirmed to wild rumors he’d love to know the source of. Like, when exactly had Beka found time to put three Dragon slave worlds under Commonwealth martial law?

Tucked away at the end were a few words. Words he’d hoped would be different.

_We don’t know where the people you are looking for are, but we’ll send a call through our network and ask that they do the same. We’ll keep in contact regardless. Good to hear from you, Bunker Hill._ _Oasis signing out._

Oasis, code name for Arrad Drift, an orbital habitat above a barely habitable desert planet whose only reason for human occupation was salt—albeit salt with an extremely attractive mineral profile for interstellar travelers with distilled water and little access to fresh fruits and vegetables. They were the first out of a half-dozen pings to call back, leading him to think that including the Bunker Hill codes from his time on Earth alongside Ollie’s codes had been a mistake. But he’d wanted them to know who he was. To know he had a reason for seeking. He wanted them to understand that the Earthers were his people, and he could help them. If only he could find them.

A frustrated huff escaped and he jumped up, pacing the galley, but he resisted the urge to throw the flexi across the room so he could watch it crash against the bulkhead, it being the bearer of bad news, and all. “It’s like following a trail of breadcrumbs in a hurricane.”

Trance rose from her bunk and stepped in front of him, forcing him to stop. Her countenance was a picture-perfect display of sympathetic calm. Almost on instinct, his arms snaked around her waist and she brought her's up to his shoulders, meeting his gaze. A steady presence. A buoy in the storm.

“But you know where the trail is now, and you aren’t the only one looking anymore. I know it isn’t what you’d hoped, but you have a better chance now than you did before. We knew it would take time.”

He smiled wryly, pulling her closer. “There’s always a bright side with you, isn’t there?”

A half-smile tugged up at the side of her mouth. “Well, I  _ was  _ a sun.”

Five words, spoken casually. Yet so significant. For the first time since waking, she’d made light of her transformation—brought it up herself and cracked a joke. If there was still a hint of sadness lurking in her eyes, it was to be expected. He should say something. Commemorate the moment. Point out to her that she was healing. It’s what she would do.

  
But he sucked at moments like these. So, instead, he allowed a smile to take over his face and squeezed her waist. “You definitely brightened my day. You’re the Northern Star that guides me and the light of my life.”

Laughter remained stuck behind a closed-lipped smile, but he could see it trying to break through in the twinkling of her eyes. Okay, try harder. “You know I’m stuck firmly in your orbit now. There’s just this gravity to you that draws me in.” He kissed her for emphasis.

A laugh, and a smile. Finally. “You can’t help yourself, can you?”

Another squeeze. “Nope, I could go on all day. I’ve just gotten started. I find that your radiant personality inspires me.”

She laughed again. Then her expression softened, her eyes studying his face. “Thank you.”

Pulling away, he studied her expression. The smile had remained, but she also seemed a little far-away—or sad. “For what?”

“For making me laugh.”

He touched his forehead to hers so that their noses brushed. “It doesn’t matter what happened to you. You were my sunshine on the Maru, and then on Andromeda. Even before I knew what you were. You still are. I’ll always be able to find my way if I follow your light.”

“ _ Melia so asii averason, _ ” she whispered. It sounded Vedran, but he could only recognize the root of the final word because it had transferred into common as a synonym for sun. Not many people spoke Vedran anymore, only the simplified version that formed the base of Common. 

“Mel—” he attempted and stopped, raising an eyebrow.

“Mel-ee-ah ah-see ah-ve-ra-son.” She broke the phrase down to its syllables. “It is how Ancient Vedrans said I love you. They didn’t use the word for the emotion like humans do. That came later when they began interacting with other space-faring species. The first part is difficult to translate. It is the essence of yourself. Like, the human idea of a soul. The whole thing roughly translates to: you are the sunlight of my soul. Or, more simply: you are my sunshine. When they said it, they meant ‘you give me life.’”

He wrapped his arms tighter around her waist and willed her to feel what he had no words to express. Language was dumb. Why was there no vocabulary to explain what was inside his heart? But what she’d said had come close. “Then I will say it to you every day. You are my sunshine.”

 

********************

 

“Captain, the sun is interfering with communications again. I’ve lost contact with most of the fleet,” an alarmed voice spoke off-screen.

“Rommie,” Dylan demanded.

“I’m doing the best I can. Engineering is on it, but none of them are Harper so they aren’t able to pull off the impossible on demand. It’s going to take time.”

Even on Beka’s small monitor in the cockpit of the Maru, Dylan looked exhausted. He’d been given control of the fleet—if that’s what they wanted to call it—of volunteer transports, cargo ship, and a handful of High Guard Vessels the Commonwealth was able to mobilize for the evacuation efforts. A few private vessels and ships from Wayist and other religious organizations had joined in as well. From what she’d already seen, they were free spirits, barely willing to cede to Dylan’s command. They were a handful, and it showed in dark circles beneath his eyes and the worry-lines on his forehead that’d become a permanent feature.

“Well, we don’t have Harper and I still need communications. Now, preferably. So tell them to figure something out. In the meantime, someone please tell me that our sightseers and gawkers have moved out of the inner solar system as ordered so we don’t have to rescue them when the sun’s magnetic forces wreak havoc on their systems and slowly start to crush their hulls?”

Testy. Very Testy.

Not that she blamed him. They were old hands at this on Andromeda, and no one else seemed to get it. She assumed these ‘sightseers’ and ‘gawkers’ were the small collection of Perseid scientists eager to explain the unexplainable, ignorant, in that annoying Perseid way, of what was happening right beneath their overly-long chins. They’d been in the way more than once. No matter how much they put their ships in danger for science, they were never going to explain this with their observations and instruments. The truth would rock the very foundations of astronomy.

“You’ll be happy to know that they’ve pulled back and there are now no ships in the inner system. And they left just in time; the first planet in the system will be consumed in a matter of minutes,” Doyle said, coming to the rescue of Dylan’s sanity. Though her tone was all business, her lips were pursed and her brows slanted sharply towards her nose.

Beka could understand where she was coming from. Doyle had watched Trance’s sun eat up eight planets as it found its way home. It’d been horrible to watch, yet the Vedrans had planned for it. Had built the system to make sure her sun slowed down enough to fall into the correct position. They’d just underestimated how many people would be living on those eight planets by the time of her sun’s fated arrival.

This had no meaning.

There was no purpose they could discern as mere mortals. It just was. And that was never a satisfying answer. Beka really didn’t want to delve deeper because, no offense to Trance, but anyone who could move a sun with a single thought was terrifying. But she was going to go deeper because the Andromeda was already neck deep in this mess.

“Dylan, the sun’s flaring. Probably won’t hurt us any more than a few disrupted systems, but I’d feel better if we backed up all the same.” Rhade, barely visible in the frame, supplied, always the voice of hyper-cautious reason.

Beka could already see him patting himself on the back for getting her out of harm’s way. The Matriarch was protected from radiation and trouble. The thought made her smile. It also made her want to get into trouble. Like when she and Rafe were kids and he reminded her—as if he didn’t disobey every chance he got—that their father had said “no”. Out of spite, she’d pressed on, just to remind him that no one held back a Valentine who’d already made up her mind. But perhaps trouble could wait for another day.

It happened in a literal flash. Command fell so silent that Beka worried for a beat that her stream had become corrupted on its three-hour journey across the cosmos from Andromeda’s position to where the Maru had stopped for the night. The sun filled Andromeda’s viewport as it bore down on a much smaller planet in the corner. Super-heated red lines crisscrossed the world’s burnt crust, outlining its tectonic plates. As she watched, it grew redder, and then in the blink of an eye, the entire thing broke apart, like a glass bulb shattering on the ground.

She’d seen eleven planets destroyed at this point in her career. An insane number. Yet, it still surprised her how quickly it happened. How little fanfare. There was a planet, then a flash and a pop, and then nothing more than a debris cloud. There should be a shock wave or some sort of cosmic scream to mark the erasure of an entire world from the star charts.

The debris cloud was vaporized by the sun’s flare a moment later as if she were lashing out to make sure the job was done properly. That wasn’t right, was it? She couldn’t possibly have that much agency if she needed an Avatar to be her eyes and ears out in the Universe, right? 

Beka would never ask the one person who knew the answer.

“There goes the first one. One more world and she’ll reach the first inhabited planet,” Doyle said softly. “It’s 80% evacuated and it’s looking like we’re making progress with the stubborn holdouts.”

Thank the heavens for small favors. Most places were eighty to ninety percent evacuated, but that still lift millions of people. How were they going to get everyone out in time? She remembered something Rommie had said early in their journey, “In Dylan Hunt we trust.” Well, if anyone could pull off a twilight miracle, it was Dylan.

“If anyone is stupidly holding out, show them this recording. That should change some minds.” Dylan’s frustration buzzed around him like electricity. It was in every move he made.

Beka wasn’t sure what made her turn around. It hadn’t been a sound—more of a feeling. She startled, then took a deep breath. From the shell-shocked expression on Trance’s face and the way her eyes didn’t waver from the screen, Beka didn’t have to ask how long she’d been there. If only her friend weren’t so soft-footed. On the one hand, it had made her a great thief and spy when the Maru was in need of thieves and spies. On the other hand, she often overheard and saw things she shouldn’t. Like now.

Beka clicked off the monitor, confident the Maru would continue to record and store the feed as long as the channel remained open. The Tagris system certainly didn’t need another witness to its demise, but it would have one.

“My God, Trance, I thought you were asleep.” Never would have started watching if she hadn’t. Beka stood and moved to stand in front of her friend. Trance looked so young in her night clothes, but her eyes gave away her age tonight: clouded and far away with the look of someone who’d seen too much.

Trance’s gaze remained on the blank screen and didn’t shift to Beka. “I had a nightmare and couldn’t fall back to sleep. I didn’t want to disturb Harper, so I got up. I saw the light on and thought you might want some company.”

“I’m sorry you had to see that.” Beka reached out and put a hand on Trance’s bare arm. Still a little on the thin side, but there were muscles now, tense beneath her her palm. Trance didn’t move to acknowledge her, and instinct told Beka that she needed to snap Trance out of whatever was going on inside her brain. She squeezed, applying firm pressure. “Hey, let’s go back to my bunk.”

A nod was the only answer, but at least it had gotten her to stop staring. Beka led the way through the dimly lit halls, silent save for the sounds of the Maru’s systems running.

Beka’s room had gone through several iterations over the years. From the toy covered disaster area she’d shared with Rafe when they were children, to the tiny curtained-in alcove of her teenage years—a compromise to give each their own space, no matter how small—to it’s current form. Where the walls weren’t taken up by storage lockers stuffed full of nostalgic odds and ends, they were covered in pictures, map, and other souvenirs from a life filled with a little too much excitement. What could she say? She hated boredom.

As they entered, the lights came on, and Beka shifted a pile of clean, unsorted clothing off the foot of the bed to a stool nearby. A problem for future Beka to deal with. She patted the bed and moved off to a locker next to the headboard. From it, she pulled a box and set it onto the middle of the bed before flopping down as gracefully as a sack of Kava fruit.

Trance sank down beside her, eying the box with a raised eyebrow. “Your super secret sugar stash?” Words spoken with a hint of hopeful longing.

The ‘super secret sugar stash’ was one of her first acquisitions after returning to the Known Galaxies from Seefra. A girl needed her comfort food. Beka reached in and pulled out a cream-filled snack cake.

“Take what you want, God knows I need an endorphin pick-me-up.” As she spoke, she opened the package, getting a whiff of sweet deliciousness.

There were various types of cakes, cookies, and candies in the box, hidden away until she’d had a rough day. Or just felt like it. Seemed kind of silly on Andromeda with access to a wide selection of both healthy foods and treats, but she liked to keep her traditions, and this one dated back to her teenage years.

“Harper spent so much time trying to figure out where you hid this when we crewed for you, but you kept changing its location,” Trance said and pulled out a clear wrapped cookie sandwich as big as her palm.

Beka winked. “I like to keep Harper guessing. Anyway, I would have shared if he’d asked, but he never did. Just kept sneaking around.”

They munched down on their goodies in silence for a few moments. Trance had liked those spicy cookies as long as Beka had known her. Harper said they were kind of like gingerbread, whatever that was.

“If there is a more complicated way to do something, Harper’s always going to choose it.”

Beka sighed heavily and kicked her legs up onto the bed, leaning against the headboard and facing Trance. “I think that’s true for all of us. Why else would be on this crazy trip? I thought I’d find a way to make the big score, pay off all my dad’s debtors, and live the easy life. Instead…” She closed her eyes and took a deep breath, then let it out.

Trance turned, crossing her legs in front of her, gaze trained on Beka’s face. “Instead of saving the Universe every other week, or leading squadrons into battle? Instead of taking command of the entire Nietzschean race?”

She opened her eyes. Trance was the picture of sympathy. Beka let her lips curl up on one side, as much of a smile as she could muster when faced with the sheer scope of everything she’d done in the last five years and everything she still needed to do. Most of the time, she chose not to think about it. Was easier to think about herself. Immediate needs and all that. “Yeah, all that stuff. I just… I don’t know.”

“Tell me?” 

Staring straight into her friend’s eyes now, Beka could see how they drooped and the puffiness of the skin around them. Trance didn’t look like someone who needed to take on the weight of another’s burdens. She already carried quite a few of her own and had added some of Harper’s on top of them, because that was the nature of a relationship. For a moment, she debated brushing Trance off, telling her not to worry about it and to go back to bed. To get the sleep she obviously needed. But she chose to let it out, instead, because she needed to, and she faced the only person who might understand.

“This isn’t who I ever thought I was going to be. I felt like enough of an impostor the first time Dylan had me take control of a wing of slipfighters and play space commando, but I got used to that. Figured out I could live with it. Now, I’m expected to take command of the Nietzscheans and bring them together. Bring them to the table and ask them to fight the Dragons for me.” Her hands were going, gesticulating to punctuate her words. “How do I ask people to go to war for me? To die for me? At the end of the day, those slip pilots were Dylan’s, not mine, and the war was the Commonwealth’s.”

Trance folded her hands onto her lap and sat statue-still. Though her expression remained smooth, there was a battle beneath the surface. It played out in small twitches around her lips and eyes. “You could choose not to do it.”

What a wonderful thought. Choose herself over the Universe. Leave the Nietzscheans far behind. Like vanquishing a recurring nightmare. Live a life of freedom where she could be Beka Valentine, Captain of the Eureka Maru—and nothing more.

Beka shook her head. “I can’t do that. There are millions of humans living like Harper did like the Lange family did. You didn’t see it down on New Burke. I can’t even describe how awful it was. If I don’t unite them under my banner, the Dragons will, and not only will it continue, but it’ll get worse. If the Dragons send a united Nietzschean race against the New Commonwealth, they won’t stand a chance.”

But Trance already knew all this. She watched silently, letting Beka finish. What a relief it was to finally say something and get it out there in the open.

Trance tilted her head to the side, her attention still on Beka. “I’m going to tell you something I have never told anyone; not even Dylan or Harper. It isn’t something I am proud of, but I did learn an important lesson from it, and maybe that lesson can help you.” Trance took a deep breath. “When many of my people are teenagers, we go through a sort of…religious phase.”

That caught Beka off guard. “What, you mean like joining a cult to spite your parents?”

Trance as a rebellious teenager was an interesting thought.

“Not exactly,” Trance said, fidgeting and picking at her pajama pants. “More like, setting yourself up as a God and starting the cult.”

Oh.

Wow.

Nothing in Beka’s lifetime of experiences ranging from odd to crazy prepared her for this. She had no response and barely stopped her mouth from falling open. Looking at human history, though, it explained a lot. A lot of the mythology. Her dad had been fascinated by human mythology. Then again, at the time, the Vedrans had also been a myth.

She wasn’t quite sure what she’d expected. It wasn’t hard to imagine godlike aliens playing, well, God. In fact, teenage Beka Valentine in her poster covered alcove might have been tempted to do the same if given the powers Trance had possessed. It was just hard to imagine Trance setting herself up as a deity to be worshiped.

“It’s true,” Trance said as if she’d read Beka’s mind. “You can ask Harper. He saw it when the Perseid Librarian downloaded the All Systems Library into his brain. I discouraged him from prying into it, but it’s only a matter of time before he asks and expects a real answer this time.”

“That’s what happens when someone loves you. They want to know what makes you tick.” No, she wasn’t thinking of Tyr. All his prying questions. Of him calling her Powerful Woman. He’d told her he wished she were Nietzschean. He’d been drawn to her, and she to him; caught in each other’s gravity, but never able to meet, their destinies diverging because they’d each chosen their own path to saving the Universe.

This would all be easier with Tyr here. He’d know how to unite the prides. He’d done it before.

Nothing would be easier with Tyr here.

It didn’t matter, she wasn’t thinking of him anyway. And she wasn’t ever going to fall in love like that again. Didn’t need a permanent man in her life to be happy. Didn’t need to be tied down. Didn’t need to be thinking about any of this; time to get back on track. “So, your people like to play God?”

Trances fingers twitched in her lap, but she kept her gaze steady. “Many sentient species choose to worship the sun when they start to develop religion, just look at how many sun gods humans had. Rindra still worships the sun. So, being mostly children, the Lambent Kith decided to have fun with it. 

“To my people, it is a natural progression from pretend play. You have to understand that most of the Lambent Kith have never lived among organics as equals. We have all watched hundreds of sentient species evolve and go extinct. I’ve lost count of the number of civilizations I’ve seen rise and fall in my lifetime. The lives of organics are so short compared to that of a star, that many Lambent Kith mistakenly believe it is simple as well. If not simple, then childlike. I was conditioned by the Nebula to think the same.”

“That’s just wonderful.” Beka tried to keep the disgust from her expression, but judging by the frown on Trance’s face, she wasn’t successful. It wasn’t her goal to make Trance self-conscious, but here they were.

“Minds can be changed.” Words spoken with conviction. Certainty. “The phase usually happens in the early stages of adolescence, but I joined the Nebula young. I was developmentally about twelve when I joined. I was never allowed the same freedom my brother and his friends were. So I was much older. Pretty much an adult.

“The Nebula is supposed to exist as one mind, and they spend most of their time as energy unless they need to stretch out and work in the organic world. But, it isn’t in our nature. We are individuals and we want to be free. When the stifling nature of existing as a whole grew too much for any of our members, their melancholy would infect the others, so the Nebula sent them out to do their own thing for a while. They held onto me a lot longer than they would anyone else. Even then, they knew they didn’t have me.

“When they let me have some time to myself, I went off to this backwater world and decided I would play children’s games to keep myself occupied. I don’t really know what it was I wanted. They’d forbidden me from going home, afraid of the influence they imagined Sol had over me, and I was so lost. I think—I think I wanted to feel special. Unique. After spending so long as a part of the Nebula, robbed of my individuality and my agency, I just wanted to be loved.”

As a spacer, Beka liked to think that she had a pretty expanded worldview, that she held fewer of the prejudices towards alien species that plagued many planet-dwellers who’d never had the chance to deal with Perseids and have sushi with a Castallian. Yet, sometimes it still surprised her at how human aliens could be, despite coming from such vastly different worlds. Her heart ached for the loneliness Trance suffered, because even with a brother right there beside her, and her father home on the ship every night—though not always present—she’d felt the same at that age. How many times had she wished she could live a different life?

“I get that,” she said, patting Trance’s leg, earning a grateful smile in return.

“As Harper would say, I was a benevolent Goddess. I presented myself to a people that were barely at the agricultural stage of development. I helped their plants grow, told them a few ways they could be nice to each other once I’d picked up their language, and just sort of let their belief system grow. I never explicitly told them I was now their God like many of my people do. They loved me, and I took care of them. I made sure that they prospered peacefully for nearly two-thousand years. They grew from an agrarian culture to a post-industrial culture, and they were beautiful.”

“What happened to them?” Because it was impossible to imagine Trance abandoning the people she cared for deeply without good reason.

The faraway look returned with a frown to keep it company. “One of my brother’s friends found out I was out there and thought it would be fun to set himself up as a rival God. At first, it was a harmless joke, but as time went on things grew violent, and a holy war sparked. I begged my people not to fight. The last thing I ever wanted was for someone to go to war for me. To die for my name.”

“But you couldn’t have known.”

“You’re right. It was later, when I lived among organics—with you—that I understood. I had given them more peace than most civilizations will ever experience. I thought that I had somehow led them to their deaths, that I had somehow in the time I watched and guided them miscommunicated my intentions. But they were capable of making their own decisions. They chose to elevate me to a role of leadership, they chose to worship me, and then, despite what I said, they chose to fight not for me, but for what they believed in. For the society they’d created with my help. They’d chosen to fight for their way of life.

“I know it isn’t quite the same, that the power imbalance between myself and those people was huge. But these prides have chosen to follow you, Beka. They haven’t been misled. Nietzscheans are well aware of the threat to life involved in every decision that they make, and they know that there will be a war. You can count on it.  _ You _ are not asking them to die for you. They are choosing to fight because they believe it is their best chance for survival as a species. It just happens to be your fight they are choosing.”

A few minutes later, after Trance had gone back to bed, Beka sat on her bunk cradling a photograph in her lap. A journalist had insisted that she and Tyr pose together during one of the many singing ceremonies they’d attended in the early days. They both wore formal clothing. She looked uncomfortable. He looked bored.

She had loved him, even then. She wasn’t sure if he ever understood how much. He’d chosen his fight over her, and that had hurt. After Trance’s words tonight, she understood. He always chose what was best for his people. For himself. It wasn’t her war, but theirs. She was simply the banner they’d rally under.

It didn’t make it much easier, but it eased some of the burdens. She sighed, put away his picture, and turned off the lights. She could be their banner if it meant a more peaceful Universe in the end. If it meant they all survived.


	24. Interlude: Rindra

“Did you see our final itinerary? I thought this was supposed to be a vacation, but apparently, we have to be up before dawn tomorrow for some sort of religious ceremony and there's a freaking party tonight?” Harper was clearly not impressed, but when Trance looked over with a small smile, she could see that he was complaining for the sake of complaining. Harper smiled, carrying his surfboard under his arm, wearing a black wetsuit and water shoes with a bag slung over one shoulder.

“The Rindran religion is heavily rooted Sun worship and dawn has great significance in many of their ceremonies,” she explained. The shifting white sand beneath her feet made it difficult to walk. She put up a hand to stop their trio and knelt down to take off her shoes, wishing she’d thought to purchase some water shoes of her own when she and Beka were at the shopping mall this morning. A breeze kicked up, brushing over her arms and causing her skirt to twist about her ankles as she stood again, sandals in hand. The sun baked her arms and her bare torso, leaving behind a pleasant warmth. “We went over all of this before we left.”

“Worship the sun, huh? At least we have that much in common,” he joked, unperturbed by her slightly annoyed tone, and she shook her head at the silliness. In spite of it, her smile grew. He wouldn’t be Harper without the silly.

In front of them, the ocean stretched out towards the horizon with white waves breaking on the shore. There were people everywhere in colorful beachwear. Some wore wide-brimmed hats to keep the sun out of their eyes. Some carried umbrellas, or buckets, or were followed by coolers floating just above the sand. Children’s laughter mingled with the crashing of the surf and the calling of colorful seagulls with long yellow beaks. When she looked back to see how far they’d come, the city’s graceful skyline was barely visible past a wall of tropical trees with wide leaves and bushes dotted with pink and yellow flowers crammed between the tree’s trunks. She stumbled a bit, and Harper caught her arm.

“Stop shopping,” he whispered into her ear as he followed her gaze to the treeline. His hand drifted down until his fingertips brushed hers, and she took it.

“I’m not.” But secretly she made a note to research the bush with the pink flowers because they looked exactly like one that used to grow in the tropicals regions of Tarn Vedra. The ferns growing beneath them, too. Not for Tarn Vedra. They were pretty, and she had the perfect spot for them in her collection.

The scenery was breathtaking, but not enough to shake off the uneasiness that prickled beneath her skin. Like she shouldn’t be here. Which was the truth, because she should be on Andromeda helping the crew save an entire system’s worth of lives. But she wasn't. So she took a deep breath and forced her smile to grow a little bit wider. If Dylan thought she was better off representing the Commonwealth on a resort planet filled with beautiful tropical zones like this one, then she would make the most of it, because worry wasn’t going to change anything.

The number of Nietzscheans around didn’t help. They were loud, raucous, and everywhere. After shopping this morning, Beka had sequestered herself in a conference room with the pride leaders for a few hours, emerging for a late lunch cranky. Crankier than could be explained by the gravity. Or the rain, which had swept through the area in the early afternoon, as it did every day, drenching them all before moving on and leaving the sky a clear crystal blue. Beka hadn’t been amused, especially when Trance and Harper had decided to run out into the warm deluge, letting it soak their hair and clothes, leaving her cowering under an overhang until it passed.

“You have to take it seriously, Harper,” Beka chided. “And at least try to stay awake. The Rindrans are the first in this sector to show interest in joining the Restored Commonwealth and they have a lot of allies.”

Trance looked over. After some prodding, Beka had agreed to wear the plain black swimsuit Trance had picked out for her with a pair of shorts over it. Beka wrinkled her nose and glanced down at her shoes, which were no doubt filling up with sand. Another thing Beka hated. Not a chance in the Tri Galaxies they would convince her to take a dip in the ocean. Hopefully, the food at the party would make her feel better. If not, a drink might do it.

“Yeah, yeah, I know. Important to the Commonwealth. Important to Dylan. Yada yada. The real question here is: how’s Trance going to manage that at 0400? I can barely get her to drag her bones out of bed by 0700 back home. Not much of a morning person.” He raised an eyebrow at her, a teasing glint in his eyes. It amused him that a former sun always wanted to sleep in and that now that he was sleeping better, he was actually a bit of an early riser. Her? Dylan had actually asked if she wanted to take a later shift, citing some Commonwealth code about reasonable accommodations for the biological needs of non-human crew members. She told him she’d figure it out somehow. It still amused her.

She raised her chin. “I will manage because it _is_ important to Dylan and to our mission. That, and 25-hours-a-day room service.”

Off to the side of the crowd was a cordoned off area with far fewer people, the sand littered with surfboards, beach towels, folding chairs, and umbrellas. That was where they were headed. Time for Harper to participate in his first round of qualifications.

As they get closer, it became clear that the party had already begun. A long table near the tree line was covered in food. A bar with a garland of orange and yellow flowers wrapped around it sat close by, the bartender throwing around bottles and mixers as she prepared drinks for the spectators. At least Trance hoped the alcohol was for the spectators. Surfing was dangerous enough already and she’d already checked Harper’s bag three times to make sure his helmet and mouth guard was in there. The full med-kit he’d made her leave in their room, only allowing her to take a few things, somewhat bemused because she’d never been so concerned before.

But she’d never been so blind to possible dangers before.

She shook her head. “After swimming.”

“Hey, I wasn’t planning on drinking before I got on my board. I want to win, you know. But this party is supposed to go on all night and it looks like they brought enough food for even your appetite.”

She tried to look indignant, but it was hard because they were grilling skewers of fruits and vegetables and her stomach growled as she watched the chef flip them, flames licking at their charred flesh.

Beka heard. “Are you ever full? We ate an hour-and-a-half ago.”

Trance pouted. “Sometimes. It just smells good.”

“I’m sure glad you got this appetite after your stint on the Maru. We wouldn’t have been able to afford to keep you. Harper ate enough already.”

“Hey, I’m always moving. It burns a lot of calories.” Harper tugged at Trance’s hand while he laughed. “Come on, let’s go check in.” He picked up the pace as they approached the entrance. She dug out her passport booklet. As VIPs, they were afforded free access to all events, as well as meals and every other possible luxury the planet had to offer on the government’s tab. All they had to do was scan in.

“Mr. Harper, head over to board inspection, they’re expecting you. Good luck,” the bouncer said, then smiled at Beka and Trance “The festivities are just kicking off, but later there will be a live band, dancing, games, and more.”

They passed through and Beka motioned towards the ocean. “I’m going to stake out a spot to set up camp, you two go ahead. Grab some food before you come back, okay?”

She might have argued, insisted they go together, but there was something in Beka’s tone that said she wanted to be left alone for a while. And it made sense. This was far out of her comfort zone. If she needed a few minutes to sulk, Trance could manage her instinct to fix things.

They moved towards the other surfers while Beka peeled off to the side. Trance squeezed Harper's hand and tried not to think of how big the waves were, because he was good at this. She’d seen him surf dozens of time in person, and even more in the news as he attended competitions all over the Known Galaxies. Trophies and medals lined the walls of his room. No reason to worry.

“I have my helmet and my mouth guard. I put on sunscreen and drank plenty of water. If for some reason I do get knocked out by my own surfboard, my wetsuit will make sure I don’t go under.” He motioned with his free hand to a tent near the other surfers. “And the medical tent is right there with paramedics on hand. I’m sure they’ll hand me right over to you if you show them your passport with your medical certification on it. Any more concerns? You’ve been a bundle of nerves since we landed.” He stopped, tugged at her hand to turn her, and when they stood face to face, he wrapped his arms around her bare waist. A smile graced his lips, but his eyes were narrowed as his gaze bore into hers.

A weak smile pulled at her lips. “Sorry. I don’t know what it is, and it’s frustrating. Maybe it’s just because this is the furthest I’ve been from the Andromeda since…” She didn’t finish. Didn’t want to.

“You’re going to be fine, and I’m going to be fine. Better than fine. I’m gonna take first place, and then maybe later we can celebrate.” A group of people passed and as they did he leaned in and whispered in her ear, then kissed right below it. “I _really_ like that swimsuit on you.” His breath tickled their hairs on the back of her neck and goosebumps rose on her arms.

Normally, she was conservative with her public displays of affection, especially on Andromeda where the rumor mill already churned out an impressive amount on the little they did show, but the sand and the sun and the salt air were intoxicating, enhancing the sensation of his fingers drawing lazy circles on her back the way the foreign scents of this tropical place mixed with his, drawing her in.

“I know,” she replied and kissed him, long and deep, stealing her breath away. Her fingers run through his hair—soft without the gel that usually held it in place. “I’ll see you later.”

He smiled a lopsided star-struck smile. “I can’t wait.” With one more kiss he pulled away, and when he reached a flexi-clutching official she turned to leave.

As she moved away, she thought she felt him looking at her, but then she turned to look, he was unloading his bag with his board at his feet and she shook her head. Now who was silly? Time to try and enjoy herself.

 

********************

 

The food table was piled high with things both familiar and strange. Bright and colorful fruits, oddly shaped vegetables. Cheeses and meats of all varieties. Some of it cooked. Some of it raw. All of it designed to whet appetites and feed hungry competitors. Before she took a plate, she looked out to the beach and found the green and white umbrella they’d brought with them. Beneath it stretched out a blanket and three folding chairs. Beka’s outline was visible in one of them, and though she couldn’t tell from this far, Trance had no doubt Beka’s nose was buried in one of those ridiculously steamy and anatomically dubious romance novels she loved so much.

Right now she would be ignoring the world around her, probably pretending she was back on the Maru, but she’d perk up once the surfing started. Nothing like a competition to get Beka going. Until then, it was probably best to leave her alone.

Plate in hand, she went about gathering enough for the both of them so Beka wouldn’t need to trek across the sand. They’d both need to make multiple trips to try it all, and that was just the vegetarian options. Her appetite was up to the challenge.

She paused as she reached out to grab a pastry, feeling the eyes on her back again. She turned. Charlemagne Bolivar, leader of the Sabra-Jaguar pride and head of the third largest fleet in the known worlds stood an arm's length away carrying an empty plate. He smiled as if they were old friends, but his dark eyes were sharp and he moved with the grace of a predator sizing up its prey.

She took an unconscious step backward and wished she were in more professional clothing than a bikini top and a cover-up skirt, or that he’d appeared when she wasn’t holding a plate overflowing with food. Still, she’d intimidated greater men and women in her life while working with much less. Needed to practice the skills anyway.

He too was dressed for the beach, she noted: a pair of swim trunks low on his hips and a button up shirt opened to reveal a set of well-sculpted abs. A pretty picture of a man with his slicked-back blonde hair and dimples forming between the angles of his cheekbones. Trance could guess whose benefit his clothing choice was for. Not hers.

“Ah, Miss Gemini, is it?” His tone said he knew exactly who she was, though she’d been a different color last they’d met. His gaze traveled over her body and she resisted the urge to fidget, never having been fond of being sized up like an entree. His eyes widened slightly in at her plate, before he met her gaze, the charming smile never faltering. “Don’t let me stop you from getting your meal. God knows you look like you can use a few extra calories. Don’t they feed you on the Andromeda?”

Just enough joviality in his tone. Just enough concern. Every word calculated.

She took it in stride and schooled her expression before answering. A hint of a smile. A gaze that didn’t quite meet his. She now let her shoulders twist, but not too much. Allowed the fingers of her free hand to fidget with her skirt.

“Arch-Duke Bolivar, it is good to see you,” she replied, turning her tone up a register. She looked up at him through her eyelashes and stretched her smile just a bit. “I can assure you I am well provisioned and well-loved on Andromeda.”

A soft hit to test. The ball was in his court now. He raised an eyebrow and swung his verbal racket. “I don’t doubt it. I’d heard you were quite ill. It is good to see you have recovered enough to resume your duties.”

A slam, slightly to the side, keeping her on her toes. No problem, she was prepared. She raised her eyebrows to mirror his expression. “Your intelligence gathering operation is quite impressive. Much more than your administrative staff. They seem to have forgotten to let us know you were coming. Had they, we would have prepared. Beka would have saved you a seat of honor in the negotiations with the other prides.”

Back to him. She reached casually across him to grab the pastry she’d been going for when he interrupted her, then returned eye contact, smile still frozen in place.

“I know. Dreadfully sorry about that. It’s so difficult to find good administrators these days; I’m sure you understand.” He too reached for food, snagging a meat and vegetable skewer. He held it up to her with a mask of polite indifference. “Would you like one?”

She’d watched him catalog the contents of her plate in the beginning. This was another feint, but her footing was sure. She was a pretty good dancer when she needed to be, and if this was the best he had, she could field anything he threw her way. And he would throw more. Escalate. Try his hardest to get under her skin, and not because he had anything to gain by it. She wasn’t his target but the warm-up round. And it was fun.

If she played things right, she could exhaust him before he reached Beka.

“No, but thank you. I don’t eat unsynthesized meat.”

“More’s the pity.” He stacked some sliced orange fruits, another meat skewer, and some tiny sandwiches onto his plate, then motioned towards a high table meant for guests to stand around. She followed, set her plate down and leaned against the table, resting on her elbows.

He took a bite and chewed it slowly, then glanced out towards where the surfers were preparing for the competition. “I saw you with your ship’s little engineer earlier. Is he competing?”

“He is. He hopes to qualify for the championships on Infinity Atoll as he has every year he’s attempted it.”

“What a brave little man. I was always impressed by him—quite strong for a human, especially from Earth. It’s a shame what the Dragons did to his home planet.”

Trance didn’t let her feelings reach the surface. Kept the simmering anger in her stomach buried. It was about control. Striking back. Playing his game by his rules. He did not know her connection to Earth. She doubted he even suspected what she was. It gave her the advantage.

She leaned in further, catching his eye, and keeping her smile in place. A polite demeanor. Two acquaintances having a conversation. It’s her tone she changed. Paired it with a slight narrowing of her eyes. Her words were slow. Intentional. “I was there for the battle of Terazed. It was right before my illness. Shortly after Earth’s destruction, the Sabra-Jaguar joined the Dragons in a battle with the Commonwealth fleet. But I’m sure at the time you knew nothing of what the Dragons had done.”

  
She lifted a single eyebrow as she continued the volley. His gaze never left hers and what she didn’t allow to show in her expression she allowed to burn in her eyes. She allowed it to weave its way through her words. Just a hint in her tone. The hit is hard and fast and he fumbles for the first time. There is a moment where he doesn’t have a response for her. It is an unusual position for the Arch Duke of the most cunning Nietzschean pride. He’d thought her a simple, silly girl. In his interactions with the Andromeda, she’d never shown him she was anything but.

He saw it now as he narrowed his eyes at her.

“Of course not. The destruction of a planet is a dreadful thing and I’m sure you understand we’d never condone such actions against a defenseless world.”

Not openly.

She tilted her head in acquiescence. “You are an honorable pride. I’d expect nothing less.” She made a point of looking towards the beach, towards where Beka lounged under the umbrella. “I am not the one you’ve come to speak to. I believe you are here for Beka. I’ll take you to her.”

Charlemagne nodded and allows her time to collect her plate. As they walked, she could feel his gaze on her back. “You know, Miss. Gemini, I’ve never quite met anyone like you. What species are you, again?”

She liked him. It was not something she could say about many of the pride leaders she’d met. He reminded her of some of her cousins and acquaintances, trained as they were in the arts of manipulation. It was because she liked him that she stopped and turned to him now. He stopped too. “You wouldn’t be able to pronounce it.”

Then she let the smile drop for the first time. No more joking around, and his lips twitch at the sudden change in her demeanor. “Arch Duke Bolivar, if you ever do see someone who looks like me, or looks the way I did when we first met, you would do well to stay far, far away.” She takes a deep breath and lets it out, “It won’t go well for you.”

She turned and began walking again, and he followed, then she turned to him one more time, meeting his eyes, the silly girl smile replaced once more. “Beka is right over here. She is also well loved on the Andromeda.”

He swallowed heavily and she turned around.

“You know, I do believe you,” he said after a moment of silence.

 

********************

 

Humidity, heat, sand, and sun. Ick. All of it. Especially the sand. At least half the beach must be in her shoes by now, sifting around whenever she moved her feet, looking for a way into her socks. The stuff was everywhere. Trance had told her this morning to look for silver linings and enjoy herself. So she did now. Yes, the tropical flowers Trance loved so much and had decorated her hair with were beautiful. And, the blend of perfumed florals and salt spray carried by the breeze could almost be considered intoxicating, but given the drawbacks of planetary gravity, dirt and everything else, she’d settle for a holo-vid and a candle any day. No risk of a sunburn there.

And no sand.

Even the steamy adventures of the werewolf Tom Drake with his rippling muscles and ravaging eyes couldn’t distract her from the beach until Harper’s competition began. It only served to remind her that no one had ravaged her in far too long. With their eyes, or otherwise. Everyone seemed to think this was some sort of lucky break, getting to conduct her negotiations in paradise, but she’d return to the Maru in a second if Trance and Harper would stop acting like she was a poor sport.

As she tried to return to her novel the soft sound of a throat clearing interrupted her. Speaking of Trance… She set her novel beside her on the blanket and turned. “You know, I still don’t get the appeal of all this—”

The words caught in her throat. It was Trance that she’d heard, but what greeted her eyes was a set of finely sculpted and incredibly male abs, as if Tom Drake had gotten tired of living a life of mere words and had sprung to life for a change of pace. With wide eyes, she followed the line between his abs up to a blond fuzz covered chest and continued up until she reached the face of the leader of the Sabra-Jaguar pride. Of course.

At least he was only half clothed. She could handle that. Even appreciate it.

“If you don’t find these views to your liking, I can assure you my seaside chateau on the Jaguar homeworld can please even the most discerning of palettes.”

Some views were better than others, she had to admit. But then stopped that train of thought because she’d been dealing with Nietzscheans all day and the last thing she wanted was to deal with more. It was as if they couldn’t speak without arguing or trying to backstab one another. Twenty minutes in the well appointed and comfortable conference room this morning and her rising heart rate had morphed into a pounding headache.

“I’m not really a planet person. I was raised in space, you see, but I’m sure you already knew that. Somehow, I don’t think your wife—wives?—would really agree with me spending time with you in a secluded chateau.” She stood to greet him properly, smoothing her shorts. His eyes grazed her figure and she thought she read a hint of appreciation there. Well, the two could play that game. “What do you want, Charlemagne?”

Dylan hadn’t hire her for her diplomatic nature. If Charlemagne wanted to hear his absurdly long title, he’d come to the wrong person.

“Elssbett has no say over who I spend my time with, and how could she argue if I choose to spend it with the prophesied Matriarch?” He bowed with a flourish. “I always did like your style, Captain Valentine.”

Nice. He’d used her title and turned the charm up to 150%. She shot a questioning look at Trance who pursed her lips and shrugged as she balanced and overfull plate in her hands.

“You know, I think I might move a little closer where Harper can see me.” She gracefully stooped and picked up the bag with her beach towel and other amenities and turned to leave. “Hit me up on the Comm if you need anything or you’re leaving the beach, okay?”

Make the most of this, her friend’s tone said. In a way, Beka was grateful for the time alone with Charlemagne. But she also wanted Trance to stay by her side.

“What a remarkable young woman,” Charlemagne said as his gaze followed Trance’s progress down the beach towards the growing crowd of surfers and onlookers. “We had the most enlightening conversation on the way over to you.”

Satisfied that Trance was going to make it safely to her destination—the over-protectiveness of the last few months difficult to relinquish—she turned her full attention to Charlemagne. “Yes, we’re lucky she’s a part of our crew.”

His brow pinched suddenly and when he spoke his voice was strained. “I have no doubt.” Then he pulled a smile onto his face and proffered his plate. “Sandwich?”

“What do you want?” she asked again as she motioned to the chairs. She followed after he took a seat. “I’m beginning to think you are wholly incapable of a simple RSVP.”

“An administrative error, won’t happen again,” he said then took a bite of one of the sandwiches. All of the willpower she could muster went into not rolling her eyes. He wiped his fingers primly on a napkin before speaking again.“I want to pledge my allegiance to you as my Matriarch and head up this… alliance of yours.”

A raise of the eyebrow at the word alliance. Right. The prides of Terazed and the handful of small to mid-sized prides invited to this session didn’t rank high on the Sabra Jaguar’s radar with their fleet of thousands and glut of worlds to their name.

She crossed her arms over her chest and leaned back in her seat, her tone a perfect example of nonchalance. “Last time you allied yourself with the Commonwealth, you betrayed us. I told you that some of us would take that personally, even if Dylan didn’t.”

He made a show of studying his perfectly manicured nails. Probably had someone come in every day to make sure they stayed that way. Charlemagne Bolivar lived the kind of luxurious life she’d dreamt of as a child and given up on as an adult. A veritable king; one trained in the art of treachery. He’d probably betray his own grandmother and insist she didn’t take it personally. That was the nature of her wayward charges.

One didn’t become angry with a snake for biting. One guarded itself against its teeth and packed anti-venom in their bag for when a bite was unavoidable.

She reached over and took one of the kabobs off his plate, catching his eyes in the process. “You do realize that slaves aren’t allowed in my alliance? I haven’t hammered out all of the details, but the bare bones outline is that if your people wish to retain their _servants_ they will be paid a fair wage and subject to all labor rights and laws as outlined in the Commonwealth Charter.”

Silver lining. The food down here was delicious.

“I’d heard a rumor. It isn’t going to win you any points with Elssbett,” he leaned in closer, “but what is a little gold out of my coffers in the long run? I have plenty.”

If the Sabra-Jaguar joined her little alliance, other prides would fall into line behind them like wolves scenting a kill, their muscles quivering in anticipation of the hunt. Charlemagne was giving her the Nietzscheans, and he knew it.

“You always waltz in knowing you are holding all of the cards, don’t you? Refuse you, and I have to gather my troops the hard way and I spend the next four days on this god-forsaken planet fighting headaches from the minor squabbles of lesser prides. Give in, and I risk a second betrayal.” She leaned in as well until their noses were just centimeters apart. In his blue eyes, she could see herself and the beach behind her reflected. It was an honor, really, that he’d come to pay her a personal visit. Her words came out slowly, a bit of an edge to them. “I like your style, Charlemagne. All of this swagger and charm, it works for you, and I’m tempted to take you up on your offer, but first: what’s in it for you? The truth, please.”

“Beyond serving my Matriarch?” A dangerous smile pulled across his lips and there was a glint in his eyes that reminded her of a blade catching the sun as it was pulled from its sheath. “The utter and complete destruction of the Drago Kasov pride. I can read the signs, and I know that within the next year the Commonwealth will go to war with the Dragons. It’s kindling waiting for a flame.” There was hunger in his eyes now. “I want to be there when it catches fire.”

For some reason, her heart had decided to start pounding, and it wasn’t fear. Trance would say that anger and revenge were not good reasons to forge an alliance. She would say that if you start with good intentions, you have a better chance of arriving at a good outcome.

Trance wasn’t here right now.

“Okay, Charlemagne, I’ll bite. But you will obey me. You will accept my demands, and if I give you the Dragons, you will give me your loyalty indefinitely.” She took a deep breath to calm her heart and set her face into a mask of grim determination. “Do I make myself clear?”

“Absolutely.” He didn’t remove his gaze from her and that hungry look was still there.

Silver lining. The week was looking a lot better now, and the scenery had improved at least 100% in the last few minutes.

“Good.”

He set his plate down on the blanket without breaking eye contact. He stood an offered her a hand. “If this setting isn’t your liking, what do you say we discuss the terms of our alliance over dinner and then figure out where to go from there?”

She put her hand in his. It was warm and strong. Harper and Trance would understand. “I really do like your style, Charlemagne.”

 

*********************

 

Harper caught another wave. How many had it been this heat? Trance had lost track. The announcers’ voices, tinny through the loudspeakers, used words like barrel and carve to describe what she was seeing but Trance didn’t understand most of it, no matter how often Harper had tried to explain the rules of surfing competitions to her.

All she could see was how he swam out to meet the wave, popped up onto his feet and rode along it, one hand cutting through the kilometers high wall of water as if feeling for changes while the other kept his balance. Knees bent, back straight, he rode along the inside as it curled over him until his disappeared from view entirely for a breath, reappearing on the other side where he twisted his board around to ride straight to shore again.

Not much that Harper did could be considered graceful, but on his board, he danced. The waves were volatile and unpredictable partners, but he could read them, guess their movements, and adjust. Over and over he caught them, asked them their secrets, and mastered them to the hoots and cheers of the onlookers.

The waves were perfect here, he’d explained, because of the position of a large coral reef—which also made it dangerous, but he’d wisely chosen not to expound on the dangers. He’d tried to go into detail but had given up when she kept asking questions about the reef and kinds of plants and animals that made it their home. He’d rolled his eyes like she was hopeless, but smiled and kissed her all the same. Then handed her a flexi with everything she’d ever wanted to know and a promise to go scuba-diving to observe if she felt up to it. He’d been prepared.

They were different enough that this love they shared shouldn’t work. Not only were they from different species and different backgrounds, but practically from different universes. Yet against all the odds, it did. Like Harper on his board, they found balance and met in the middle with the things they shared. Like a love of life, and chaos, and knowledge.

His heat was over his and score from what she could see on the monitors high. Yet he wasn’t quite finished with the ocean yet. He waved as he took his board out to give it one more go before the next group’s turn. Harper always wanted one more go. One more chance to fly or to catch an even bigger wave. The bigger the risk, the bigger the payoff in adrenaline and endorphins. Sometimes she wondered at how cautious he could be when dealing with threats on the Andromeda, choosing inaction over risk, and how none of that mattered when he was on a board riding waves, hurtling down mountains, or flying through sand and stone at breakneck speeds.

He paddled out, crashing through some waves and riding over others, shaking the water out of his eyes. She shifted on her towel, uncomfortable, feeling the eyes on her back again. Though she wasn’t sure if it was eyes or a sense that something was out of place, that there was something she should be seeing, but couldn’t. She glanced behind her but the scene was the same as the last few times she’d checked. Perhaps a few more people now, with lithe dancers performing a belly dance on stage. Nothing out of place.

It was just concern for Beka. Must be. Beka had left with Charlemagne at least two hours ago. Not that there was any real chance of harm coming to her, but given her history with Nietzschean men, anyone would be concerned. When Trance had told Harper he’d almost tucked his board under his arm and gone after her before Trance reminded him, as he often reminded others, that Beka was a grown woman and could take care of herself. Or make her own decisions as to the types of alliances she wanted to forge. Trance hadn’t missed the way Beka and Charlemagne had looked at each other.

Harper made it to the point where the waves formed. He waited out a couple of swells, using the strength of his arms to stay in place as water crashed over him before he popped up, getting his wish for a bigger wave. She could see immediately that he’d misjudged it. He struggled to keep his balance. Made a good show of it, but as the wave curled over him he lost it, the board flying out in front of him, connected to his ankle by a thin tether.

She jumped up and rushed forward, leaving everything behind on her towel. From here, she tried to judge how close to the reef he’d been, but she hadn’t been out there herself and didn’t know. He surfaced as she reached the beach, the cool water pooling around her ankles, and the sand pulling out from beneath her feet. Her lungs didn’t agree with her sudden sprint across the sand, so her breath came in spurts. Another wave crashed in white foam around her ankles.

Harper limped towards her with an amused smile and an eyebrow raised. “Just waiting for me to fall so you could rush to my rescue?”

“You’re limping.” She moved up to meet him, slipping under his arm after he picked up his board. A few more breaths and she caught hers. She offered him a smile tinged with embarrassment. Perhaps she’d overreacted.

A medic waited for them on the dry sand, flexi in hand, a med-kit hanging off his shoulder. He motioned toward the medical tent, “If you’ll follow me Mr. Harper, we’d like to check you out before you head off to the party. Looked like a pretty nasty spill.” His eyes were on the leg Harper favored.

Trance gave the medic a smile and dug out her passport. She flashed it. “I’m his physician on the Andromeda, I’ll take care of him and will sign off on any paperwork you need me to.”

The medic took it, scrutinized it, then scanned it with a camera attached to his flexi. He passed the flexi and a stylus to Harper. “Sign right here that you are refusing treatment from us and seeking care from your own physician.” He smiled at Trance to let her know there were no hard feelings.

Harper signed it, and when the medic was out of earshot gave her another teasing smile. “My hero. Those medics are always so handsy.”

She laughed. “They are handsy, or you are? What happened to your leg?”

“When I fell I hit it on the reef, got my arm too, but it doesn’t hurt as bad. No big deal.”

They arrived at where she’d left their things. “You’re probably right, but let me be the judge of that. Strip.”

“I mean, if you insist.” He shrugged. “Who am I to tell a beautiful woman no when she wants me out of my clothes.” He waggled his brow before working on the zipper of his wetsuit. She could see now how he avoided using his left arm, making it difficult to remove the thick, skin-tight fabric.

She helped him, tugging it down from behind. He smelled of the ocean. Behind them, with voice booming across the beach, the announcer started announcing the final scores of the last heat. They paused, listening.

9.1 out of 10, the second highest score of the day, and not by much, and better than his first two heats of 8.7 and 8.9 respectively.

“Yeah baby!” He jumped, pumping his fist in the air, then winced. Trance tried not to laugh. “How’s that for not surfing for four years, huh? Couple more like that on the circuit and I’ll be a shoe-in, as long as the disasters stop long enough for me to make it to the comps.”

Not likely. Disaster courted Andromeda fervently, arms outstretched. Each time they danced away from her embrace they found themselves ensnared once more. It never ended. But they would find the time for his competitions. She’d make sure of it. These moments were moorings in a sea of storms. Brief flashes of normalcy and stability to remind him life existed beyond Andromeda’s bulkheads. Even though he’d lost his home port, there were places for him to find respite.

A comfortable silence fell between them as she got to work now that Harper was dressed down to a loud pair of Hawaiian print board shorts. It’d surprised her, long ago, how he didn’t really need the distraction of the noise and chatter he filled his life with. Not with her. Not with the song of the waves and the gulls in the background. Love and companionship brought with it peace and removed his compulsion to fill the air with static.

She was glad to be an anchor for him. He was hers.

The work was routine and automatic. As dark and deep as his contusions were, the reef had done no serious damage. He’d suffered worse in other competitions and races. Nothing worth charging to the rescue over the way she’d done. Dylan had ordered her to have fun, yet she kept letting all of these little fears and anxieties get the better of her. Logic warring with emotion. Even in this peaceful place.

The Universe hadn’t grown more dangerous because she couldn’t see the dangers anymore, she reminded herself.

Harper, at the change in her demeanor, put a hand on hers to still it as she wrapped analgesic-laced compression tape around the palm-sized mess of mottled blue and red on his shin. “You okay?”

She offered a small smile. “I’ll be fine. You, on the other hand, can’t seem to stop yourself from getting hurt. It is bruised to the bone, you won’t be able to go out there again today.” He lifted his hand and allowed her to continue, “The tape will take care of the pain soon, I promise.”

“You can’t just kiss it and make it better?”

She laughed. “I wish I could. It would make life with you a lot easier.”

Silence fell again as she moved his arm. Though uglier than the first, it was the least severe. Intent as she was on her task, she didn’t notice the High Priestess approach until she was standing over them. Trance startled and Harper’s arm instantly shot out for the gauss gun he’d left behind on the Maru. He grimaced at its absence, then calmed when he twisted to see who it was.

The High Priestess was a pretty woman of indeterminable age. They’d met her briefly when they arrived. Even here, she wore the trappings of her station. A long gold skirt that shimmered in the sunlight and a white form-fitting crop-top with golden embroidery. A mask in the shape of a sun covered the upper half of her face, partially obscuring her eyes.

“I didn’t mean to frighten you.” Her voice was sugar and laughter. From the corner of her eye, Trance saw that Harper’s gaze was drawn to her bare midriff and the gleaming crystal set into her belly button. Tanned skin sparkled from the cosmetics all of the priesthood rubbed into their exposed skin, making them look like they could be Trance’s distance cousins. “I’d heard you were here and thought I’d say hello.”

Despite her knowledge and acceptance of Harper’s overt appreciation of the female figure, she rolled her eyes. He noticed and managed a rueful shrug.

“Um, hi.” He seemed to notice his state of undress the moment he started to speak and became flustered. She bit back a laugh. Harper and beautiful women.

Taking point, she stood to greet the Priestess. “Thank you for taking the time out of your day.”

The mask hid many of her features. The Priestess’ eyes—brown maybe—twinkled from behind the mask and Trance shifted uncomfortably before forcing herself to remain still, wrapping her fingers around her skirt so they wouldn’t betray her nerves. It was harder to keep the frown from her face. She could feel the other woman studying her, even if she couldn’t see it. The intensity of it raised her guard. This would be a different game entirely from that she’d played with Charlemagne earlier.

“I was no hardship. You are the heroes of Andromeda. I was eager to meet you.” She held her hand out for a human handshake. Odd since neither of them was human. “Mayella.”

Trance returned the gesture. Mayella’s hand was cool and smooth. Her eyes were more visible this close, and it seemed that in them, and in her touch, Trance could feel a well of energy—of fire. This was a woman with a vibrant lifeforce who was confident of her place in the Universe and her ability to change it. Like Dylan, someone whose very presence pulled people into her orbit.

Trance had once been that way.

It stung to have a stranger remind her when she’d tried so hard to forget. Or perhaps it was this place and the sun on the Priestess’ mask. The day before they left Dylan came to her with his second thoughts. As the guests of honor and the official representatives of the Commonwealth, they’d be required to participate in the religious ceremony preceding the signing ceremony.

“It might be hard for you,” he’d warned as if she didn’t know already.

She’d given him her most reassuring smile. “I’m no stranger to elaborate ceremonies like this one, as you might remember.”

She’d promised it wouldn’t bother her. She’d be fine.

This woman had made a liar of her. She longed for Andromeda; the homesickness filling her heart so that it ached and hung heavy in her chest. She shouldn’t be here, far from her protector, forced to face what she’d been and would never be again.

Tomorrow people would bow down before Mayella as she took on the visage of the Sun. Once, she’d been destined to make all of the cosmos bend the knee to her, not just a gathering of devout worshipers. And while she didn’t require, or even want worship, it had been her right to deny it before the option was taken from her.

But this was a diplomatic mission. And she was not just diplomat but a ranking officer decorated with the highest honors. She knew her duty. She released Mayella’s hand and pulled a gracious smile on her face. A mask. “Pleased to meet you properly. You already know that I am Trance Gemini, and this is Seamus Harper.”

At Trance’s introduction, Harper rushed to his feet, stumbling a little as he put weight on his injured leg. A hand on his arm steadied him.

Mayella reached out her hand to Harper. “I saw your heat. Congratulations, you show an impressive mastery of the waves.”

Harper ran a hand through his hair and shifted back and forth on his feet, not quite meeting Mayella’s eyes as if at a loss for how to handle women, especially women paying attention to him, now he was in a relationship. At a look from Trance, he returned the handshake. “You, uh, follow surfing?”

“On this island, it is one of our favorite pastimes, though I admit I don’t get to watch as often as I’d like. You gave me a decent diplomatic excuse to do so.”

Harper preened from the attention and Trance fought the desire to wrest his attention back to her, a stark reminder that love wasn’t always light hearts and bubbles in the stomach. This too was rooted in the inadequacy she felt beside this woman.

Mayella gestured to his leg, a sympathetic frown decorating her face. “I hope you weren’t injured too badly out there.”

“Just some bruises. I get them all the time. They’ll be gone by tomorrow and I’ll be dancing all night, good as new—Trance is a miracle worker with nanobots. Everything really. You should see her gardens.”

How she loved this man.

Mayella’s gaze fell heavy on her again, though she still addressed Harper. “I’m certain they are magnificent. I’ve read some of her recent papers on Vedran flora and fauna. They’re impressive in their detail and I hear that some of her plans for restoration Tarn Vedra are already in the process of being implemented. It’s even more impressive given that Tarn Vedra only returned to the known worlds a few months ago and all we have are broken 300-year-old databases to go off of.”

Trance lifted an eyebrow, projecting outward calm, though that sense of something just beyond her vision grew stronger. “You are well informed.”

“Rindra was one of the earliest members of the Commonwealth. We all eagerly await the return of Tarn Vedra to her former glory. She was a world of great beauty, it is a shame to see what has become of her.” There was sympathy in those words for a world that had suffered disaster, and it was sincere.

Trance rubbed the fabric of her skirt between her fingers to keep her face smooth. Mayella couldn’t know the heartache her words caused. Harper’s hand touched hers. Brushed it in a discrete move that told her he was there. He understood. She didn’t have to face this alone.

“It’s already a totally different place,” he said, coming to her rescue and giving her time to compose herself.

“I am surprised you find time for so much reading. Your position must keep you quite busy,” Trance said.

Mayella inclined her neck, acknowledging the change in topic. “It does. There is always so much to do—it keeps life interesting.”

Trance returned the gesture, bowing her neck. “We are honored you took time out of your day to visit with us, it’s too bad Beka wasn’t here to meet you. We look forward to the ceremony tomorrow morning.”

“Speaking of the ceremony, there is still quite a bit to do.” Here she said something in an ancient Rindrin language, but it was similar enough to other languages from this system that Trance understood. She feigned confusion to match Harper’s. Mayella smiled. “It is what we say when we part at the temple. Be brave. There is never a night so dark that dawn will not come.”

With a final bow, she walked away. Trance turned her gaze on Harper, who followed Mayella’s progress across the beach.

He met her eyes when she was far enough away to be out of earshot. “You are a master at the polite brush-off. You okay?”

“Yeah.” She motioned for Harper to sit and then knelt down beside him. An exhaustion that had nothing to do with jet-lag added weight to her limbs.

“She seemed nice.”

Trance sighed and grabbed the compression tape again, unrolling it around his bicep. “Yeah.”

The one syllable answers weren’t going to cut it.

A mischievous glint flashed in Harper’s eyes. “If I didn’t know any better, I’d think you were jealous.”

While she appreciated his attempt to diffuse the situation with humor, it hit a little close. She closed her eyes, took a deep breath and let it out in a heavy sigh. “Not for the reasons you would think.”

Harper stopped her hand with his and she met his eyes. “What do you mean?”

They were supposed to have fun while they were here and guilt goaded her into brushing off his question and saying the words that would smooth his knitted brow and replace his concerned frown with a smile. She shook her head, but couldn’t quite coax out a smile. “It’s nothing.”

“It’s something.” He removed his hand and let her finish. When she had, she sat down between his legs and leaned against his torso. He wrapped his arms around her and kissed the back of her head. “It’s bothering you.”

In the background, the announcer introduced the surfers in the next heat. Gulls called and the waves crashed against the shore. A band started to play. She watched the ocean, sparkling in the sunlight, and the almost hypnotizing ebb and flow of the tide. A toddler holding his mother’s hand on the beach squealed and jumped up and down when the water hit his tiny feet. Life moved on. Happily. Without concern for the affairs of the stars. And she wondered why she couldn’t just go out there, splash around in the water, and be happy like that little boy. Why did she seek out non-existent dangers in the shadows?

“There are just so many reminders.” She didn’t need to elaborate. He hugged her tighter. “And, what she said… she didn’t translate it quite right. I could be wrong, but the Rindrins were one of the first spacefaring species and their influence stretched pretty far before a massive upheaval a thousand years ago set them back. The language she used is similar to the Common of that time period. If I translated properly, she was close, but not quite right. She said it translated to ‘There is never a night so dark that dawn will not come,’ but a more direct translation would be ‘there is nowhere light cannot be born’.”

“You’ve said that before. Lots of times.” His voice said he grasped the significance.

“It is something my people say. One of our key beliefs. But it’s nothing. If they’ve been saying it for over a thousand years, they probably don’t know that it ever had a different literal meaning. Language changes and evolves over time.” She sighed. “It’s just one more thing.”

“You gonna make it through tomorrow?”

“I’m certainly going to try. Let’s just focus on the rest of today.”

“I can get behind that. How about a drink? I hear there is one strong enough to make anyone forget their problems for a night. Maybe we can split it.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Maybe Taff can pass this along, but a big THANK YOU to Mav for letting me borrow the werewolf, Tom Drake. I love him, and so does Beka. So thank you <3 <3 <3.


	25. Interlude: Beginnings

There were voices in the dining room of the giant penthouse apartment they shared with Beka. Trance yawned and rubbed her eyes in a futile attempt to remove her sleepiness. At 0300, less than four hours after going to bed, it wasn’t easy. Harper had told her to go order caffeine and breakfast while he showered so she had time to wake up. A kind thought, but no amount of coffee would provide the alertness she needed to perform daily tasks. But she’d figure it out. Had no choice.

Outside the floor to ceiling windows that lined the halls the lights of the city, Amala, sparkled like a sky full of stars. Amala never slept. Its visitors came from the furthest reaches of the Tri-Galaxies and covered three dozen—or more—species. The hospitable Rindran’s had ensured that no matter the guests’ sleep-cycles, there was always something to do. 

Unless you lived on Intergalactic Standard Time and needed to be up before dawn Amala Time to execute your diplomatic duties. Her own fault. In retrospect, the hours of dancing at the party last night, the two large, fruity drinks with tiny umbrellas she’d consumed, and the subsequent tipsy dip in the local clothing-optional hot spring may have been a series of poor choices. Late night escapades had never bothered her in the past so she let herself forget that she’d never had to recover from them on the power of her own organic body before. Harper’s bleary eyes, proof he wasn’t able to party the way he used to either, were a small consolation.

Sparky Cola sounded good right about now. Sleep deprivation did little more than alcohol to improve her decision-making ability.

As she drew closer she recognized the lilt of the voice beside Beka’s. Charlemagne. It had been suspicious that Beka had turned in early last night, but Trance’s inebriated mind didn’t question it. Didn’t think much about it at all. Didn’t consider the extra shoes by the door either, but now she remembered them sitting there beside Beka’s. A pair of high-quality leather boots richer than any of them could afford. An interesting but not unexpected development.

She glanced down at her silky pajama pants and contemplated turning around to get dressed. Her countenance was even less impressive in oversized pajamas than a swimsuit top. But that would prompt questions from Harper, and if she knew Beka after all these years, Bolivar was already on his way out the door before Beka expected Harper up. If the Archduke wanted to stay the night in their personal quarters, he’d just have to put up with her unprofessional dress. The amusing image of Charlemagne exiting Beka’s tiny quarters on the Maru—the only other option Beka would be comfortable with—tugged her lips into a small and amused smile despite her exhaustion. Of course they'd come here.

“Morning Beka,” she announced her presence before she rounded the corner—the polite thing to do in these situations. After years of sharing a ship, they had a process. Trance didn’t judge. There was too little time and too much hatred in the Universe to worry about wonderful moments of joy and passion. That Beka was safe was all she cared about.

She walked into the small dining room and kitchenette and straight to the breakfast bar as if nothing were out of the ordinary and flashed Charlemagne a smile. “Good morning, Archduke.”

“Trance, I didn’t expect you out here so soon.” Beka too was dressed in pajama pants and a camisole. Both hands were wrapped around an oversized steaming mug. She nodded towards a tray on the table. “I already ordered you one of those frozen coffee things you liked so much yesterday. Figured you’d be exhausted.”

“Thanks.” She grabbed it from the tray. A can of Sparky and a second mug beside a thermos remained. Harper’s ‘double whammy’. Enough caffeine to keep her awake for a week and send her blood pressure skyrocketing but hardly a jumpstart for him.

“I must be going. See you at the ceremony and the reception tonight?” Though he’d kept his tone level, Trance caught a hint of hope there. He then turned to her, the warm smile he’d given Beka straining. His eye twitched. So she had unnerved him yesterday. Maybe he’d think twice if one of her people decided to get involved in Nietzschean politics. Still, politeness dictated he say something. “Good day, Miss Gemini.” His gaze fell on Beka again.

Beka leaned forward. A low-key electrical hum passed between them. “Yeah, see you then.”

Trance nodded to Charlemagne and took a drink of her coffee to cover up her smile. Beka didn’t need to see how close to laughter she was. The coffee was delicious. Bittersweet and creamy. Hopefully full of blessed caffeine because if this was the start of her day, she was going to need it.

She scanned the rest of the room. Further down the bar were the remains of two breakfasts. They’d been up for at least an hour already. Had they gone to bed at all? Beka didn’t look any more exhausted than usual. Was difficult to tell on a Nietzschean face. Might have just turned in early. Together.

Charlemagne left without another word and Beka set about stacking the plates. She didn’t say anything at first, but then caught Trance’s eye.

“We were just eating some breakfast before the ceremony this morning,” she explained, picking up the coffee cup again and pulling it close to her chest, closing herself off. She looked over Trance’s shoulder at the hall.

“Harper just hopped in the shower. He won’t be out for a little bit. Was it enjoyable?”

Red rose in Beka’s cheeks. “Breakfast?”

The laughter threatened again and she had to bite the inside of her lip to keep her expression neutral. Humans really were squeamish about sex. “Yes, breakfast.” Her tone assured Beka that she wasn’t talking about bacon and eggs. “There are worse people to share… breakfast with.”

Beka sipped her coffee, eying Trance over the rim of the mug. Finally, she put it down, relaxing when she didn’t find the judgment she’d feared. Perhaps she was right to fear it from Harper, who had no love of Nietzscheans, but Trance didn’t hold the same attitudes and prejudices many humans did. Not that Trance didn’t understand—had she lived like Harper she might have harbored hatred for Nietzscheans as well, but she had seen too many civilizations rise and fall and too many people’s lives destroyed by hate to let those seeds take purchase in her heart.

But now was not the time to dwell on Harper’s past or his prejudices. This was about Beka.

“Well, I mean I haven’t had breakfast like that with anyone in a long time. It’s nice, sometimes, you know?” Beka said. The metaphor had stretched to its limits, but Trance decided to keep it going.

“You’re right.” Trance took another sip of her coffee then gave Beka her most comforting smile. “Sometimes you just need to have breakfast. He seemed interested. I assume he’s decided to ally himself with you?” 

Beka fidgeted and smoothed her pajama pants. “He offered me his fleets the moment he saw me. It was surprisingly straightforward. He signed the paperwork over dinner last night.”

Relationships had been founded on less. “So there will be plenty of opportunities for breakfast in the future.” She studied Beka’s expression carefully. Beka was drawn to Nietzscheans, and that was good because the painful truth was that, as the Matriarch, it was going to be difficult for her to find human partners interested in anything more than a short-term relationship. Many humans still blamed Nietzscheans for the fall of the Commonwealth. And they weren’t wrong.

Beka’s face didn’t give much away. “I don’t know if I’m looking to make this a regular thing. There are a million reasons why it’s a bad idea and one major reason why it’s a horrible idea.”

“Elssbett.” Trance wrinkled her nose, remembering Charlemagne’s beautiful, deadly, and thoroughly awful first wife. It still baffled Trance that anyone could hate flowers.

“Yeah, Elssbett,” Beka confirmed, drawing out the first word. Her nose wrinkled too, her lips pulling into a sneer. Charlemagne’s wife wasn’t much of a consideration last night, and why should she be?

“Nietzscheans are polyamorous and she can hardly say anything against him having breakfast with the Matriarch. It will eventually give his family status. Besides, it doesn’t have to be a formal arrangement. Sometimes it can just be—fun. Think of how much it will bother her and how little she can do about it.”

Beka laughed now. “You are devious sometimes.”

Trance smiled and shrugged. “I try.” She took another sip and then put her coffee down, locking her gaze with Beka’s. “Be careful and do what makes you happy. Our lives are too short and always in too much danger to do anything else.”

“Thanks, Trance.”

She shrugged again, giving Beka a warm smile. This was their game. “For what?”

“Please tell me coffee is here? I seriously almost fell asleep standing up in the shower.” Harper appeared in the hall wearing a pair of boxer shorts and a skintight tee, rubbing his hair into more disarray with a towel. She gave Beka a small nod, still smiling, and picked up the can of Sparky.

“Beka has us covered. She ordered before we woke. Here.” She stopped in front of him and handed him the cola, then attempted to smooth his hair into something resembling order. It was a lost cause.

Harper looked over her shoulder and raised his drink to Beka. “Thanks. What’re you guys talking about?” He popped the can and looked on expectantly as if he sensed they’d been discussing something serious.

She kissed him. Always an effective means of distraction. “Just breakfast.”

“Did you have any?” He glanced over her shoulder at the breakfast bar. “The ceremony is, like, two hours long and mostly standing and that doesn’t include the walk over there.”

Trance bit back her laughter as Beka snorted behind her. She took a steadying breath. “No. I can’t say that I’ve had any breakfast this morning. Not really awake yet.”

“What? What’d I say?” Harper asked as Beka snickered again. He looked so tired and confused that she was compelled to kiss him again. 

She pressed her palms to his chest and gave him a quick peck. “It’s nothing. I am going to go take my shower now. Drink up your caffeine, you’ll feel better. There is a thermos of black coffee on the bar, too.”

He reached up and put his hand on top of hers. “Okay, but make sure you get a granola bar or something after. Actually, I’ll just order for you. You shouldn’t go without breakfast.”

She made it halfway down the hall before the laughter escaped.

 

********************

 

The wind was brisk but the sun bright. It had snowed again last night and though the streets were clear and de-iced in this sector, the white of the snow piled up on the buildings and sides of the road was blinding. Ollie pulled her knitted cap further down over her ears and adjusted the heating in her coat to compensate for the cold then pulled a pair of sunglasses from her pocket. She couldn’t remember a winter in her entire life where she’d been warm most of the time. Snow was definitely a lot more fun with a proper coat and waterproof boots. No holes in anything she had on save for those that were supposed to be there, either. A dream come true.

Her Comm beeped and she rolled her eyes. She dug it out of her pocket, fumbling a bit in her gloves. Dad, of course.

“Hey, Dad, what’s up?” She kept walking past throngs of people. Some, Commonwealth transplants, wore streamlined tech-coats like hers. Shiny, new and fashionable. The fabrics covered the spectrum with hats and gloves decorated with small details, like embroidery or lace. Others, Seefrans, were dressed far more like she was used to back on New Burke. Thick layers of dingy beige and brown cloth with scarves wrapped around their heads.

“You make it there?” His voice was gruff. Children shouted and laughed the in the background. The kids at the Children’s home loved him. Whenever he worked they crowded around for a look until the teachers and caretakers shooed them away.

“It’s only been 15 minutes and it’s a three-click walk.” Annoyance crept into her tone, though she’d tried to stop it. “You know, you can use a computer terminal to find out exactly where I am at any moment. My comm has a tracking device in it.”

Sometimes she thought her father wanted the gates of the Nietzschean ghetto back. With checkpoints and guards to keep her inside. Then he never had to worry she was out of his reach.

“Keep that attitude up and there will be a few extra chores for you and a few less for the boys when you get home tonight. I’m still not happy with this and it isn’t wise to press my buttons.”

“I’m not—” she started, raising her voice, and then stopped. She took a deep, calming breath. He was right, of course. It wasn’t ‘wise’. “Sorry, dad.”

Hard as it was to do, she forced her annoyance deep down, though it made her want to hit something. Time to use her brain as her mother implored her to do. Douse that firecracker in her belly. All part of growing up. It wasn’t easy. Especially not here when all she wanted to do was chase the sun. See what was beyond the horizon and get back up into the stars where entire worlds looked like marbles and the Universe stretched on forever. Never an end to what she could learn. And all her dad wanted to do was keep her safe at home.

She took a deep breath and spoke in a calmer tone. “I told you, it’s for school. Dylan and Trance say this Orlund dude is cool. Dylan had to jump through hoops to set it up for me. It’ll set me apart from the others applying for the All System’s University.”

Maybe best not to bring that one up since she’d have to dorm on Xinti, but it was too late now. The elephant in the room. There wasn’t a school on Tarn Vedra for her yet. She and a handful of other ‘promising young minds’ received self-paced lessons and assessments from the All System’s University branch on Tarazed to prepare them for official university entry, but it was understood that they’d each need to take on additional studies and complete an intensive research project in their hopeful field of study. All of the students on Tarn Vedra were at a disadvantage; none of them had a formal education.

Didn’t matter. She was used to hard work and uphill climbs.

“I know, it just worries me to have you alone in those tunnels—”

“With High Guard officers.”

“People around here tell stories about them.”

She sidestepped a flower peddler setting up shop on the street in the shadows of the steel bones of a building that hadn’t been there last week. The cart seemed on fire with red, yellow, and orange flowers that must have been grown in a greenhouse somewhere. The peddler was oblivious to the buzz of activity behind him where construction workers in black jumpsuits and hard hats tuned up their machines and drones for the day’s work. If she had more time she’d sit and watch. Try to figure out what role each machine played and how they all worked together to put up high rises in a matter of weeks.

A pair of roughly dressed teenage boys pulled up to the fence to jeer at the workers. She didn’t understand more than a handful of their words. Picking up the dialect of the local children was slow going, but she got the gist. They didn’t want the Commonwealth here. Too bad, this planet belonged to the Commonwealth first.

Her eyes would get stuck if she rolled them any harder. “People around here say a lot of things.” She glared at the boys when they caught her eye as she passed by. One of them made a rude gesture and she returned it with one of her own, glad her dad couldn’t see through the Comm. Assholes. “They’re technophobes who don’t like change.”

And the city changed every day as more outsiders moved in and set up shop and brought order to the chaos. It made the Seefrans uncomfortable. But some, like the kids she went to school with, embraced the change. They were a silent minority. Seemed that hatred spoke louder than love and she’d had just about enough of it to last a lifetime. If she got out there in the stars, she could be a part of the Commonwealth. She could bring law, justice, and equality to the Universe. Things she’d never hoped to ever experience before Harper and Beka stole her away from the Dragons.

This was so important.

“Don’t worry, I’ll be fine. I won’t be kidnapped by pale tunnel dwellers or get turned into a statue. If I do, you can ground me for the rest of my life.”

“Every time you tell me not to worry, I worry more. Check in with me, okay?” His tone had softened. Stone was what he’d had to be on New Burke. Stone was what they’d needed him to be to keep what was left of their family together. Her mother remembered a time when Garrin Lange was full of ideals. When he played his violin while gazing at the stars and dreaming of a better future. A man who forgave easily and loved strongly. It had seemed to her, she’d told Ollie, that he was out of place in such a hard place. 

The locals had a legend about the tunnels beneath Seefra city. Those who wandered too deeply into them were turned into statues. It didn’t scare her. The New Burke Ghetto was like a molten forge. It melted down her father and cooled him into obsidian. Hard and full of sharp edges. No magic at all to it, only a harsh reality that most people here would never understand.

But stone was too rigid for this ever-morphing world. Her dad softened more each day. He allowed the world around him to shape him, guided by the crew that had adopted them into their strange little family. It was a start. She needed to learn, too. How was it she understood it on an intellectual level, yet had so much trouble controlling her temper?

She smiled as if her father could see. “I will. I love you. We’ll walk home together tonight, ‘kay?”

“Yeah. Love you too, and be careful.”

“Always.” She pocketed her comm and continued past more businesses and storefronts. A farmer’s market had sprung up in an empty lot and she made note to stop by on her way back to the children’s home. She’d find the strangest fruit or vegetable and bring it home. Play the food dare game with the boys. She always won—she’d try any food at least once. No sense in being picky.

The entrance to the tunnels was in the middle of what was shaping up to be a warehouse district with large squat buildings and industrial vehicles and machinery. The wind picked up as a cargo shuttle landed beside a building nearby. She watched and wished she knew more about makes and model. Always so much to learn. Especially out here. The pilot jumped out and waved at her. Her new clothes marked her as one of their own. Not a Seefran.

As much as she disliked the Seefrans, she had to admit the prejudice went both ways. The Seefrans needed to realize that the Commonwealth was here to make life better for everyone. With no fleet, no government, and no law, without the Commonwealth’s protection Seefra would fall to someone like the Dragons quickly, their population decimated and survivors chained and penned up like animals to do Nietzschean bidding. 

The Commonwealth needed to prove to these people that they were here to protect them because all the Seefrans saw were the refugee camps they were crowded into—neighborhoods like the one Ollie and her family lived in were still going up—and rich people in nice clothing walking through ever-changing streets. A tale told throughout history. The Haves vs the Have-Nots. Having been one of the Have-Nots herself, she understood their simmering anger. Something needed to give sooner rather than later.

A security checkpoint was set up at the tunnel entrance with two young High Guard officers in their black uniforms chatting and smiling. She could see bone blades folded against one of the men’s arms and despite herself, her heart sped up and her limbs became liquid. A Nietzschean. She swallowed down the knot in her throat. She had the credentials to be here. And even if she didn’t, the Commonwealth didn’t shoot to kill for having the wrong paperwork. But her hands still shook as she dug out her passport.

A human man with high cheekbones and dimples waved to her. He was in his early twenties. Couldn’t have been out of the academy very long. She could see now that the Nietzschean man was also young, and was too busy reading to pay her much notice.

“Hi, how can I help you?” the human asked.

“I—” she started and fumbled, her mind having trouble breaking through her irrational fears. Like with her father, she understood her feelings were acting out of control but was at a loss.

The Nietzschean looked up from his flexi and gave her a smile laced with boredom. “She’s the kid here to meet Orlund for her school project, I think. Olivia Lange?”

The human man nodded as if he just remembered. “You Olivia?”

“Ollie,” she muttered and passed him her passport. He took it into a small temporary structure and came back out a moment later, handing it back to her.

“Here you go, Ollie.” He emphasized her name as he handed it back to her, those dimples decorating his cheeks again. “Head on in, and good luck. Orlund should be waiting for you once you get down the steps into the tunnels proper. Watch your step, it’s a bit of hike down and, um, Orlund may seem… weird. But he’s cool, I promise.”

Harper had said something similar. Maybe dad was right.

The first thing she noticed inside was the overwhelming amount of dust in the air. It tickled her nose and filled her mouth with chalk. As her eyes adjusted, she could see motes of it dancing in the weak cones of light emanating from sconces placed evenly along the walls. For all the dust, though, it was clean and dry. No cobwebs and no mold like what had grown on the walls of their basement home on New Burke, no matter what they did to try and rid themselves of it.

Her footsteps echoed down the stairs. The landing opened to a wide, dimly lit cavern. Along the walls, low to the ground, ran what she assumed was a ventilation system. Purple lights hung from the roof of the cavern and built into the walls were supports with ornate patterns carved on them. Original Vedran technology. More lights had been added. By the Commonwealth, she guessed, because they didn’t match the aesthetic. While the walls were rough-hewn from the stone, the ground was smooth. Down here she could hear water trickling somewhere and the air carried the scent of it. Still no mold. Thank God.

“You must be Olivia, sent here by my Princess and my Captain.” From around a bend came a man—dark skinned with dark eyes and close-cropped brown hair. A goatee framed his soft, yet handsome, face. Though he was also in his early twenties, like the boys outside, he spoke with an air of ancient formality, like she imagined princes spoke in old human fairy tales. 

Even though Harper and the boys outside had warned her, she stopped and took an involuntary step back. This man did not seem like he had it all together. Her fingers hovered over the holster where she carried a stun-gun to protect herself. They wouldn’t have let her in here with a gauss gun, but her father insisted she carry a weapon with her when alone.

“Um, hi. Do you mean Trance and Dylan? They told me you could show me the old Vedran communications consoles. I want to study them and try to reproduce one for school.”

He wore a high guard uniform, the rank of ensign pinned to his lapel. A force lance hung from a holster on his leg. He stepped forward and she did too, putting her trust in the Captain who’d carried her family here and the woman who’d brought her brother back from the brink of death. If they’d vouched for him, she’d give this a go.

“Yes. How are they?” His smile was sincere and eager. She relaxed her fingers.

“They were good when they stopped by last week, and this morning Harper sent me a picture of the resort they are staying at in the Rindra system. They looked happy.” She chose not to mention what the rest of the Andromeda crew was doing because it horrified her to think of a sun eating its entire planetary system for no reason. She’d rather not think about it. “So, can you help me?”

“I can!” He held out his arm to her, “If you’ll come with me, I will show you where the communications equipment is kept. I am surprised not many of the Commonwealth scientists have shown interest in them. The Vedrans were rumored to be able to communicate across the galaxies with no delay at all, but it is weapons and transportation everyone is interested in…”

Ollie linked arms with him and as she listened she decided that eccentric or not, she kind of liked him. Kind of thought they could be friends.

 

********************

 

Harper had never been one for pomp and circumstance. Especially of the religious variety, and especially when forced to participate before dawn. Not that he hated mornings. Not at all. He and Morning just had a rocky relationship where insomnia often forced them to work together when he’d rather cozy up to his bed. They’d been on the path to repairing their relationship with the aid of Trance’s miracle medications—and her presence beside him at night—but today he wanted nothing to do with Morning.

Even so, he had to admit this walk was beautiful. Rain clouds had yet to drift in, leaving the sky a clear, deep purple dotted with twinkling stars. Two gibbous moons lit their way toward the volcanic plateau where the ceremony would be. One almost full, and one only slightly larger than half.

Tall trees surrounded their path, casting shadows on the ground and against the sky. It smelled of perfume and moss. Nightbirds called through the foliage. The growth here had been tamed and managed to keep the sky visible and the path clear but even after more than a decade off of Earth, he still found it hard to believe anything this natural and wild existed outside of holovids and Trance’s well-curated gardens. 

Though there were hundreds on the path before them, and more behind, all were silent. Reverent. The long skirts the local women favored and the wide pants of the men rustled with the leaves of the trees. This was called ‘The Path of the Ancestors’ and he could understand why. If he strained his ears, it almost sounded like the benevolent dead were whispering from the past.

He walked between Beka and Trance, though he kept his hands by his side. This was a diplomatic mission. He knew the drill. It was a pity, though, because Trance needed someone to reach out. Her expression was grave. Serious. Even before the silent procession, she hadn’t said much, putting on a mask and closing herself off the moment the penthouse doors had closed behind them.

Must be hard for her. He’d thought about it since their interaction with the high priestess yesterday. Tried to puzzle out the meaning behind the words she’d said and, more importantly, those she hadn’t. But he didn’t want to pry. The stoic silence was her heart’s shield, and it’d be under a constant barrage this morning. He wouldn’t be responsible for breaking it down. Not here. Not now. She had a job to do as the face of the Commonwealth. An important one that she took seriously.

Their procession continued to the base of the plateau. Here is where the cameras that would record the proceedings for all of the Commonwealth—including Dylan and the rest of the crew—met them. Harper tried to ignore their flashing lights and the cameramen operating them. The path up was lined with torches and he could see from here that they circled the top as well. Tiny lights at the base of each told him they were mechanical. On a control, likely. Priests and priestesses with fire gleaming off their golden sun shaped masks stood between the torches murmuring blessings he couldn’t understand.

“The night is nearly done,” Trance whispered, breaking her silence for the first time in what must have been forty-five minutes.

This whole thing was surreal and disorienting. The darkness discomforting. It had never been his friend. Humans, he’d read once, had a primal fear of the dark. But those fears were real for Earthers. Darkness was when death came to the door. On Earth, real monsters had lurked in the shadows and their ghosts still lurked there.

But the priests were right. They wouldn’t be in darkness much longer. Already the sky grew lighter. He picked up the roar of the waves now and a few lone gulls cried their good mornings over the whispers of the devout.

The High Priestess met their party at the top. Trance stiffened, snapping on guard, and Harper decided to hell with Dylan’s diplomacy. He grabbed Trance’s hand and squeezed. She clung to him, her grip tight. A quick glance at Beka told him she didn’t object. She, too, had been strangely thoughtful this morning and Trance knew why, but it was never a good idea to nose into women’s business. It never went well for him.

Hand in hand they followed the Priestess to the front, passing giant benches made from tree trunks hewn in half and sanded down, their surfaces polished by thousands of bottoms over the years. Plush grass covered the ground. It had to be cool and soft, but he’d been denied the feel of it by the necessity of wearing closed-toed shoes with his slacks and button-up top. Rommie had at least taken pity on him and allowed him to wear short sleeves. Who said pouting didn’t work? He was glad, too. Once the sun rose, so too would the temperature.

He gave Trance’s strappy dress flats a mournful glance, then forced his tired mind to focus instead of wandering everywhere but where it was supposed to. Past Harper was an asshole for getting drunk last night, but that dip in the hot springs sans clothes had been pretty nice. He hadn’t relaxed like that in quite a while… Focus.

The High Priestess led them o a bench at the front. Charlemagne Bolivar, despite not originally being on the guest list, had secured himself and his retinue a spot of honor beside the other Commonwealth representatives. There’d be more tonight at the reception. A room full of diplomats from the member worlds, but here, they were the guests of honor. The official delegation and the face of the Commonwealth. For ceremonies like these, the Andromeda wasn’t just the ship of the line, but the match that had re-lit the flame of civilization.

Hard to imagine that he’d signed on for a few hots and a cot—and maybe a little cash to line his pockets—and now he was on his way to becoming a household name. Seamus Harper, the representative of an entire civilization. No one back home would have believed it. A hero according to those who’d pinned decorations on his collar. He wore them today, as did Beka and Trance.

As they slid into their seats, Beka cast a warm smile towards Charlemagne and the Archduke returned it. Harper’s brows shot up. That was not a look normally given to Nietzscheans. Especially not lately. Dinner negotiations must have gone better than expected. He’d forgotten to ask this morning.

They remained standing as the High Priestess took her position on a stage towards the edge of the plateau. The sky had become a shade of periwinkle with a thin line of pink visible on the horizon. The priests behind them began to sing, voices low at first, then rising in volume as parishioners joined in. He couldn’t understand the Rindrin, and Trance didn’t translate. Her face was a mask of sobriety and reverence. Everything it should be. He wished sometimes he could borrow the superpower that let her meld seamlessly into any situation. Instead, he stood like a wide-eyed tourist who’d stumbled into the wrong room and couldn’t leave. The flames cast shadows on her face. He kept hold of her hand.

The priests moved up the aisle in two columns, separating when they reached the platform. They took their places around the High Priestess. The torches around the platform extinguished and he craned his neck to see that those along the path had as well. The sky had lightened enough that everyone was visible in shadows around him. The High Priestess began some sort of invocation, her voice carrying across the platform without the aid of any microphones Harper could see. As her voice died out, torches on the stage flared to life, much brighter than before. Impressive showmanship.

“Our scriptures tell of periods of darkness. Long nights when the light of civilization burns low,” she said in Common and he snapped to attention as if her voice were a command. Like Dylan’s back home, it rang out solid and confident. Hers was a voice you listened to whether you wanted to or not. Thank God his mother hadn’t possessed it. “These times come in cycles. Like the ebb and flow of the tide below us. Like the rising and setting of the sun.” Her voice even overpowered the crashing of the surf against the base of the plateau and he wondered if she had a microphone hidden on her person somewhere.

She continued. “We have been in the depths of this long night for so long, that we have forgotten what daylight brings us. Once, a galaxy of stars was ours to travel. There was peace. Prosperity. Our people stretched across the known Galaxies and we shared bread and knowledge with hundreds of worlds in the System’s Commonwealth, protected by their fleets. When it fell, we fled back to this world, our home, and have hidden here from the chaos beyond ever since.

“Our mother Sun protected us, even without a great fleet to call our own, but beyond her reach, was only a vast and dangerous darkness.”

Trance didn’t move. Didn’t change her expression. He wondered how much energy it took to remain so still. How strict she was with herself to keep her emotions locked behind so strong a barrier. How much was it going to cost her later? Because he was on to her. The way she ignored her pain, physical or emotional until it was safe to feel it, and how it was always so much worse when she allowed it take over.

“But, as foretold, the Long Night is coming to an end. For us, and for the greater Universe. There is a change in the air.” 

And there was. As if on cue, a breeze picked up, cooling the moisture beading on his skin from the humidity. The periwinkle sky had faded to a lighter blue and orange joined pink along the horizon. Like a painting. And in the forest behind them, the birds of paradise were waking. Their calls rang through the trees.

The High Priestess motioned to the sky. “The dawn will come. It always comes. Bringing with it light and life. Warmth, and prosperity. Let us raise our voices and rejoice.”

Once again, the singing began with the priests and grew louder as the song moved through the crowd. Flutes and drums joined in. He looked around and noticed for the first time that the bench across the aisle from them held a number of musicians using polished wooden instruments. These words, too, were in Rindrin, but he didn’t need to understand. The melody filled him and because of it, he soared. Like he was back on his board scaling the biggest waves, or looking down on Earth from the stars for the first time. The swelling highs and sentimental lows enveloped him in a sense of belonging to something larger than himself. Larger than this world. A sunrise contained in a song.

It was wondrous and uncomfortable how he didn’t believe in anything much beyond himself as far as faith was concerned yet the song made him feel like he could. And wasn’t it his not-so-secret desire to escape from the shadows once and for all and have his day in the light? Unafraid. Unburdened. To put the Dragons and the Magog behind him and help build something better for the children he secretly hoped he’d raise one day. Was it really so different, that hope he had for himself and the Rindrin’s hope for the Universe?

When the song ended he reeled from the introspection it had forced on him. She spoke again, a prayer this time with a call and repeat aspect. The voices around him were resolute. Fervent in their faith. Unable to focus he looked to his companions. Beka watched with her lips pressed tightly together so wrinkles formed around her mouth. Charlemagne feigned nonchalance, but his eyes were sharp and focused in opposition to the lazy smile that played on his lips.

Beside him, Trance remained a statue, but one with unshed tears now shining in her eyes. They’d never let go of each other’s hands and he squeezed hers to remind her of their connection. She squared her shoulders, even as she continued to watch. The most challenging part of the ceremony was yet to come, but she was strong. She could do this. And he’d be right here because he’d be damned if she had to go through any of this alone ever again.

All around them, as the ceremony continued, dawn broke and the world woke. After a fable of some sort, like those Rev had been fond of telling, and a sermon spoken in both Rindrin and Common that he couldn’t follow, the High Priestess stepped forward to the edge of the platform and Harper forced himself to focus again.

“This day and the alliance we are here to celebrate has been blessed by our mother Sun. She has spoken to me, and now I speak for her. Who here represents the Commonwealth.”

A buzz of anticipation moved through the crowd. This was the purpose of all this and he stood taller. He could almost feel the cameras panning to their group. Probably moving on to their surprise VIPs, the Sabra-Jaguar pride, and then back again. Trance had reminded him earlier—because for some reason she thought it was a good idea to make him more nervous—that this was the true moment that Rindra joined their Commonwealth. The signing ceremony this afternoon was a formality. The religion controlled Rindra’s culture, not the government.

They’d chosen Trance to represent them. For her poise. For her familiarity with customs like these. Because as a non-human, the Rindrins could relate to her. On Andromeda, it had seemed like a perfect plan. No one would ever give him the responsibility. Beka was already overwrought and out of her comfort zone and Trance had been happy to volunteer. Everything all wrapped up in a neat little package and tied with a bow.

Now it didn’t seem quite so clean.

Her chest rose and fell slowly. She gripped his hand tighter as she took another breath. One day he was going to ask her how she kept her expression so tight in moments like these, with only small tells to give her away to those who knew her best. The answer was probably ‘a few million years of practice’.

“I do.” Her voice rang out, strong and confident, though her lips twitched and she sought his eyes in the moment before she let go of his hand and stepped forward. 

The High Priestess beckoned her forward. Trance moved with grace, her back straight and chin held high. He glanced at the cameramen and watched them turn their cameras to follow her. No doubt, she made a commanding presence on screen. Locked away was the silly girl he’d met on the Maru all those years ago, who still came out to play when it was just the original crew hanging out together over board games or cards. Locked away was the woman who’d danced in the rain with him yesterday. Who’d patched up his wounds on the beach. Who’d giggled as he removed her bikini top at the clothing optional hot spring. Who’d woken up this morning rubbing her tired eyes and pouting at the clock as if it were out to get her.

Before him was someone entirely different. Someone he’d only glimpsed at before and hadn’t seen at all since she lost her memories in Seefra.

ance climbed the ramp to join the High Priestess on the stage, the priestess backed up to her previous position and Trance stepped up beside her. They turned so they could be seen in profile. The torches on the stage went out, leaving them cast in shadows. 

“It is customary for us to seal an alliance with a gift. It isn’t a material thing, because material things are fleeting in the eternal time of the Universe,” the High Priestess said.

A child dressed like a priestess with sparkles rubbed into her skin approached carrying a candle. Its flame now the only light save for the sunrise. The breeze picked up again and the flame flickered. The child guarded it with her hand. She smiled brightly at the priestess, and then turned to Trance, eyes filled with wonder. She knelt before her and passed the candle to her.

“Trance Gemini of the Andromeda Ascendant, representative of the Commonwealth. The long night has not ended, but the dawn is near. This alliance is a harbinger of that dawn. We offer you the gift of light, that we all might be guided through the darkness until we can welcome the dawn with our arms wide open.”

Trance reached out and took the candle, cradling it in her hands as if she’d been given precious gemstones or the Vedran Empress’ crown. She closed her eyes, tilting her neck forward as if in prayer. Then she straightened and allowed a gentle smile. “On the behalf of the New Systems Commonwealth, I accept your gift of light. There is never a night so dark that the dawn will not come.”

A few simple lines. That was all she had to speak, and watching her now he knew it couldn’t have been anyone else up there. The priests sang again. The musicians joined in, but this time the crowd remained silent. Then, behind him, he heard a rustling, and slowly the hundreds on the plateau knelt. One by one at first, then in a wave. He looked to Beka, uncertain, she nodded and knelt herself. To Harper’s surprise as he took to his knees on the soft grass, so did Charlemagne. The Archduke's eyes were not on the priestess, but Trance. The glow grew brighter and then a sliver of sunlight broke over the plateau and as the song continued the sun rose. The High Priestess and Trance, standing across from one another with a candle between them, becoming shadows in its brilliance.

And as the sun became their backdrop and the song reached its crescendo the High Priestess did something unexpected. She bowed before Trance, and the rest of the priests and priestesses followed her lead. He heard it in the murmurs around him. In the sharp intakes of breath. This was not a normal part of the ceremony. Trance faltered. Her shoulders dropped, and her mouth fell open. In a beat she recovered, standing straight again as she thought she was expected.

Clothed in fire, with everyone kneeling or bowing around her, she was suddenly the ruler she was meant to be.

When the song faded, they knelt and bowed in silence for a few breaths longer, listening to the music of the dawn. The birds and the surf, and the sounds of the distant city as its tempo picked up now the light had come. Then everyone rose.

“Our mother Sun has spoken and our alliance with you  _ will _ bring light to our Universe.”

It took Harper a second, with the vision of his golden goddess still in his eyes, to realize she meant the Commonwealth and not Trance herself.


	26. Interlude: Meetings

In keeping with the theme of the day, Trance had clothed herself in the sky. The bodice of her dress was the deep gold of the sun just before it set and the lightly flared skirt an inky black. The sun’s rays stretched into that night sky before fading out, as if trying to bring its light to the darkness. Sewn into the fabric, which flowed in the island’s ever-present ocean breeze, was a shimmering starscape. Hundreds of tiny pinpoints and larger five-point stars were clustered together like the view from the obs deck and seemed to glow against the fabric.

Stunning was too weak of a work. Breathtaking? Not even close. After the ceremony, she’d turned back into a tired woman in desperate need of a nap—which she’d gotten before their next engagement. This evening, in the fiery glow of the setting sun, she was a goddess again with the wind and flowers in her hair.

“You’re late,” Beka said, tone more amused than upset and, for a moment, he was confused because he’d forgotten she was there. Had forgotten anyone else existed. Beka laughed. “See, told you he’d be speechless. You owe me ten guilders.”

Determined to say something, he opened his mouth but all that came out was an impotent, “I… uh…” Two weeks and four days since he’d told Trance he loved her and still, every day, he wondered how he’d gotten so lucky. How, by some miracle, the most amazing woman in three-galaxies—a woman he’d shared air with and worked beside for years—had decided he was worthy of her love. He was convinced he’d wake up find out it had all been a dream because this didn’t happen to poor street kids like him. But every day, when he left dreams behind, her warmth beside him remained.

He wanted to freeze time. Stop the sun from setting. Keep her all to himself. But time always marched forward and life, with all its obligations, moved on. Her beauty and light were not for him alone, as much as he coveted it. In a few moments, they’d join the party and cameras would roll, as they had all day. Their visages broadcast from one end of the Commonwealth to the other. Uncountable households watching.

Trance’s gentle and soft-spoken nature had won over the hearts of the Rindrins, and undoubtedly the Universe at large. The cameras had sought her out all day, as did reporters with their comms held out for a few soundbites from the Commonwealth’s heroes of the hour. Hard not to remember that they’d been considered criminals before the Seefra. Before the battle of Tarazed and the Battle of the Worldship. It wasn’t the Commonwealth’s fault. Trance had reminded him that the Abyss had infected the Triumvirate and in the end, the light had won over the darkness. This was her proof. She’d said that this was their Commonwealth, what they’d sacrificed so much to bring about, and they had to put on a brave face to support it.

Brave words. Strong words. Laced with a capital ‘r’ responsibility. And a sense of duty, because she hated the cameras and the questions as much as he did.

He’d thought he wanted to be famous. Turned out fame was a misleading word. He’d just wanted his name in the history books, lots of money, and hot women fawning all over him. Instead, he was moderately well off with a reasonable salary coming in, and dreaded the next reporter to approach him with personal questions that had nothing to do with the Rindrins joining the Commonwealth. Didn’t even care about the women anymore. Not when he turned in with Trance every night. 

“You guys ready for this?” Beka asked. He finally looked over to her. She stood tall and confident in a white, off-shoulder pantsuit cinched around her waist with a matching belt. The hairdresser had done her hair in an elaborate braid and she’d decorated her arms in shining silver bangles. She projected power, everything expected from a Matriarch, captain, first officer, and the best-damned pilot in the Universe. Yet her eyes gave her away. Guess they were all pretending.

Such was life as his mom always said.

He found his voice. “Yeah, let’s get this show on the road.” He offered his arm to Trance who took it with a nervous smile. 

The Rindrins had covered the stairwell with flower petals and lined it with torches like those on the plateau. Along the base groups of reporters congregated. Their low voices rose together like a swarm as they announced guest arrivals as if they were holo-vid stars at an award ceremony. The group from Andromeda joined the line behind a half-dozen Perseid delegates who looked like they’d skipped right out of an ancient black and white film with their gray skin and gray outfits amid the tropical color fest surrounding them.

“You’d think after all these years we’d be used to this,” Trance whispered into his ear. 

“I’m never going to get used to this.” He smiled wider as they approached the reporters and so did she. Snippets of the reports rose to his ears. Phrases like “recently decorated” and “Andromeda Ascendant”. A pale man with a booming voice spoke of the Tagris system as they approached. Trance smiled and nodded to a couple of cameras. Beka waved. He followed their lead.

Inside was one of the most lavish parties he’d ever had the benefit of attending. He’d been on Rindra once before for a surfing competition. Beka had only been able to give him enough extra for his entrance fee and a bit of food. He’d camped out on the beach because it was free for surfers. Far nicer than his accommodations on Earth, too, with the fresh air and ocean views free of pollution and Magog. The second night the penniless campers had built up a bonfire and watched as people arrived at an event like this one. They’d wondered aloud what was going on inside. No one had been close.

At least a hundred wooden tables sat on a wooden floor, decorated with candles and flowers. The sweet perfume of the blossoms mixed with savory aromas of food and the fresh salted air. Fish and meat. Roasted vegetables. Waitresses with bare stomachs and waiters with bare chests carried trays laden with things he’d never seen before. The room was larger than he thought it would be from the outside. Thousands of tiny lights twinkled on the ceiling, wrapped around giant exposed beams. Wide windows on rollers along both sides of the venue stood wide open, exposing a wrap-around porch with more candles, more flowers, and more tiny lights.

“Welcome, the light be with you,” a priestess said, bowing as they entered.

Unsure of the etiquette, he simply nodded and resisted the urge to say, “Back at ya.” Trance pulled herself closer to him and when he looked over, her brown eyes scanned the room as if she searched for danger in the shadowy places.

“What do we do now?” he asked. Trance pursed her lips and shrugged.

“All of the official stuff happened this morning. We’re just supposed to have fun and smile for the cameras. Show everyone how happy we are that Rindra has joined up.” Beka said, and she too was searching. No, not searching. Seeking. She had a goal in mind, unlike Trance.

“What’s up with Beka?” Harper whispered in Trance’s ear. Moving only her eyes, she turned her attention to Beka who wasn’t even being subtle.

“She’s looking for Charlemagne.” The tone was matter-of-fact.

“Why would– Oh.” It hit him when Beka peeled off towards Charlemagne with a look he’d seen too many times not to recognize.

Really? Charlemagne? Couldn’t have been Mr. Bare Chest and Tight Pants from Beka’s flexi? Wasn’t surprised she’d fallen for yet another Nietzschean. But Charlemagne. He sure hoped she knew what she was doing and that he wouldn’t have to spend more time than necessary for diplomacy with the Arch-Duke. Couldn’t stand the smug asshole.

“Should we just leave her alone?” he asked. Found it hard to keep the sneer off his face, much less out of his voice.

Trance laughed. “She’s not alone. For what it is worth, I think he’s just as fascinated by her and I am not worried.”

That did help, a little, but it still felt like Beka was playing with a Saurian pit viper and just hoping not to get bitten. If Trance wasn’t worried… Didn’t mean he had to like the guy.

He tried to figure out what to do. “Hungry?”

“Not really.”

Strange and bordering on concerning. He searched the venue for a quiet place, or one a little less crowded. A stairwell that led off the porch and down to the beach caught his eye and with a firm hand on the small of her back, he guided her through the crowd. Progress was slow. Even with lips pressed together and eyes on the end goal, they were stopped.

“Nice to finally meet you. It’s a shame the rest of your crew couldn’t make it. I was hoping to meet Captain Hunt in the flesh.” By the purr in the dark-haired woman’s voice, she definitely wanted to see some flesh. A quick smile and a ‘we really wish there were here too’—because they really did—and they were rid of her.

“Seamus, my man, we gonna see you at the qualifiers on Rigel next month?” asked a surfer he’d bumped into at a handful of competitions before. Greg? Jeff? One of those generic human names that existed everywhere humans colonized. The polite-brush off worked on Greg-Jeff too, but not so well on Professor Ashar, the Perseid botanist, who waylaid them after.

“Miss Gemini, I was wondering if you were planning on publishing another paper on Pre-Fall marine flora in the Vedran southern sea. I found your first paper insightful.” Saying they had lots to do didn’t work. A promise to send anything more she wrote didn’t, either. A battle waged in Trance’s eyes between her need to be polite and her desire to escape. Harper eventually stepped in front of her and, maybe a little rudely, pointed out that they were off duty and he could always send a message to the Andromeda where Trance could answer at her leisure. She kissed him on the cheek after.

Over the last few months, her confidence had grown. He’d thought she’d begun to believe in herself again after over a year of uncertainty and three months of intensive recovery, but out here—he wasn’t sure anymore.

They passed through the rest of the crowd with smiles and nods, waves and handshakes. His stomach forgot he was on a mission. It growled at the trays of steaming food that crossed their path. His mouth joined the party, watering at bright drinks with fruity garnishes.

Trance didn’t ask where they were going. She trusted him—the crazy woman. They reached the porch and moved into the open ocean air outside. A few people in fancy dress wandered the beach below as the sun sank into the glassy ocean and the moons and stars glowed in the darkest parts of the sky above. The music inside had been loud and meant to appeal to a variety of species. They’d gone for a more relaxed and romantic vibe out here. A traditional band with flutes, drums, and some sort of string instrument with a long neck and two strings played a slow tune that rose and fell with the surf as if it were a part of nature’s song. Wasn’t usually his jam, but tonight it was just what they needed.

“I guess vacations in crowded resorts aren’t really your thing anymore. We’ll have to plan better next time. Camping on a secluded beach somewhere? A retreat in the mountains of Prious III? No one there but the monks, and they don’t say much.” He kept his tone light and joking. The smile was harder to maintain. There was a time when they’d lit up the night together. The louder, the better. More people? More fun. They’d drink a few. Dance until Beka, Rev, or Dylan dragged them laughing and giggling back to the Maru or Andromeda. Most nights he’d ended in Trance’s company after other women spurned his advanced. Had never felt like pity, either.

She tried to smile, but it twisted somewhere along the line into a frown. Her eyes drifted out to the ocean. “I’m sorry.”

They kept walking. Down the beach with a tropical forest on one side and a crystal sea on the other. The sky a gradient from fiery orange to the darkest purple. Too gorgeous a place to have so many conflicting emotions. The venue grew smaller and he wondered if it looked like they were making a break for it. Could see the tabloids now: “Engineer and Smoking Hot Science Officer Run Off for Secret Tryst During Diplomatic Event”.

If only it were that simple. “There’s nothing to be sorry about. What’s going on in that beautiful head of yours?”

He pulled her into a convenient copse of trees with twinkling lights woven around their branches, flashing through giant orange and green teardrop-shaped leaves. Here, they were almost hidden from sight. A bench wide enough for two and a low table had been placed inside as if the resort had expected a pair of lovers to seek a quiet moment there. The music was softer now. In the distance, a pair of gulls called. Said goodnight as the moons took over for the sun.

“I’m just tired and feeling…” She paused, searching for a word with little canyons forming above her nose. “Unmoored? If that makes any sense.”

It did. It made perfect sense. He’d felt that way since he landed on Seefra years ahead of everyone else and more-so since Earth’s destruction. Drifting. Floating. Carried by the tide wherever it felt he should be. Nowhere to call home except Andromeda, and she wouldn’t—couldn’t—be his home forever.

“Yeah, I think I get it.”

A priest and a priestess passed by speaking in hushed tones. The male priest glanced at their copse but quickly turned back to his companion, uninterested. Trance’s gaze followed them for a stretch before it fell on him once more.

“This is such a celebration of Rindrin culture. For the Commonwealth’s benefit, they are giving us this grand display of who they are as a people. It’s beautiful how the entire planet and their lunar colonies have come together.”

“But it reminds you that you don’t have a home anymore. Or a culture,” he said when she didn’t add anything more. Might be bit harsh, but it’s what swirled around his brain. Not surprised it was going around hers. What little culture the Dragons had left to the Humans of Earth disappeared when it exploded. There would be no more Humans born from the birthplace of humanity. No more legacy. He and a handful more, people he’d probably never meet, were the last Earthlings.

“It is hard to not know where you belong.” She sighed a heavy sigh. Everything had been so damned heavy for her lately and he was at a loss on how to lighten the load. Time was Dylan’s answer, but it was hard to wait on time. It always moved so quickly when he needed it to slow down and crawled when he wanted it to speed by.

“You belong with us,” he said as if his conviction could reassure her while deep inside he felt the same. It was nice to have people. He was surrounded by humans the way she was surrounded by the stars, yet none of them were his.

She took his hand. Hers was always so warm. “I know.” Her smile was strained. “My home is now where you are, and in time it will get easier. In time I will miss my family less. I will learn to navigate this Universe blinded and taking care of my body will become second nature. It is just… Just time.”

For a few minutes, they sat together on the bench watching white waves break by the light of the twin moons. A light glow on the horizon the only evidence of the sunset.

Finally, he broke the silence. “Speaking of time, how long do you think we can hide out here?”

Her smile was truer this time. “We should probably make an appearance once in a while. At least one of us.”

“Can you imagine the news if they don’t see us together again the entire night?”

She laughed. “They’ll be too busy focusing on the illicit romance between Beka Valentine and Charlemagne Bolivar. I kind of wish I could see Elssbett’s face when she turns on the news.” A glint of mischief in Trance’s eyes reminded him of when they were younger and first brought onto Dylan’s crew. The devilish side to sweet, loyal Trance. He rather liked it.

“Bet she’ll be pissed.” And hot. Best to keep that one to himself. “You know, I used to think it’d be cool to be famous but I just want them to leave us alone after today.”

Trance shrugged. “It’s going to get worse. We are their heroes. We helped revive the Commonwealth, took on the Magog and saved life as they know it. That is why they are broadcasting every event we attend across the Tri Galaxies.” She looked out towards the ocean. The same pair from earlier passed by again on their way back to the venue. Trance’s eyes narrowed as she watched them go, but she didn’t say anything. 

She turned back to him. “People want to see their heroes. Touch them. Get to know them. It gives them hope, and that is a beautiful thing.”

He opened his mouth to speak, but she leaned forward and kissed him before he could say anything.

“I know you don’t feel like you deserve it, Seamus, or even want it, but you have done heroic things and that is what they see. It is what I see.”

He shook his head and averted his gaze. He turned to the white waves breaking on the shore by the glow of twin moons. In that ocean, he could swim. In her eyes, he’d drown. “I’m just Seamus Harper, a poor kid from Boston.”

“No, you are the man I love and so much more than you believe you are.”

The feelings got a little too real a little too fast with a knot forming in his throat and heartbeat slowing to a stop. 

She put a hand on his shoulder. “Why don’t you go get us some drinks. I’ll wait right here for you to come back.”

Just like that, she gifted him the time he needed to process his emotions. He’d take it. Maybe one day he wouldn’t need to.

“Something huge and fruity with an umbrella in it?”

“Yeah, that sounds great.”

  
  


********************

  
  


“Are these plasma blast wounds?” Doyle asked though it wasn’t necessary. The seeping, blackened mass on his chest spoke for itself. The wounded man looked up to her with questioning brows because she’d spoken in Common and most of these refugees only spoke their native language. These people had never imagined they’d live the rest of their lives away from the planet they called home. Much like her, if she were honest. She pulled a sympathetic smile from her toolkit, though it was hard in the face of all this destruction.

She scanned him with a scanner. “You’ll be alright. Please wait here,” she told him, using the language of the continent he’d come from. The benefit of being attached to Andromeda’s mainframe.

“Will you help me?” His voice was hoarse. “Please, it hurts.”

Another plasma burn victim rounded the corner supported by a frazzled security officer with bloodstains on his uniform. The officer scanned the corridor desperate to find a gap in the shoulder to shoulder misery and suffering that lined it from one end to the other. Doyle wished him luck. She turned back to her patient.

“We will as soon as we can. Our medical deck is filled to capacity. I’m sorry but we can only tend the most serious wounds right now. Yours are not serious.” Small comfort for a man in pain but it was all she had to give. Couldn’t linger here. Time to move on to the next patient.

“Why are we seeing more plasma wounds?” she called to Rommie. “And where are the medical frigates?”

Harper had called this her trial by fire after he’d uploaded a thousand years worth of medical knowledge into her brain before he took off to Rindra. That wasn’t an adequate description. More like trial by fire, broken bone, bullet, plasma blast, and radiation sickness. He hadn’t wanted to go, yet she was jealous anyway that his views were tropical forests and sandy beaches and hers were—this.

Too many people and not enough beds. Not enough hands either. Or medications. Or nanobots.

“The frigates are full. Almost everyone coming off the planet now is sick or injured. Keep focusing on triage. Most can wait until we jump to the refugee camps.” Rommie was all business and cold logic. That too made her jealous. These people were in pain and it was hard to divorce herself from it.

A mother with a crying child in her lap reached out an arm as Doyle scanned her and the child. Radiation sickness, but not life-threatening, even for the child.

“Please, my son is sick. We’ve lost everything. Please,” the mother begged, her green eyes filled with tears that shone on her brown skin.

“It isn’t serious. You’ll be fine, but you will need to wait. I’m sorry.” How many times had she apologized this afternoon like she was stuck on repeat?

The screen above the mother flashed and Rhade’s face overtook it. Nietzscheans didn’t sweat or succumb to exhaustion the way humans did, but he was harried and sunburned despite the precautions they’d taken to protect the away team. The sky burned orange behind him and there was a flurry of noise and activity all around.

“We’ve got another load coming. ETA 30 minutes. About forty people, all in need of medical attention. There is fighting down here over who gets off this rock next.”

Her simulated breath sped up. Her thoughts raced. There wasn’t enough room for forty more and this was only the first planet. Only five percent of the population remained. The most stubborn of the holdouts who’d finally realized their mistake and decided not to commit suicide a little too late. Too many to handle. People were going to die on her watch and there was nothing she could do about it.

“Doyle, copy?” Rhade asked after a long silence. 

She took a deep breath. Project calm. Be calm. 

“Copy.” The screen went dark. “Garcia, prep a section for incoming with combat wounds. Clear out beds as soon as people are stabilized. We’re going to need them.”

“Aye,” Garcia said, jumping to her feet with the barest hint of uncertainty on her face. Like the rest of them, the crease between her brow had become a permanent feature. Likely wasn’t what she had signed up for when she went to the academy. Wasn’t what any of them had signed up for.

She interfaced with Andromeda’s systems and checked inventory. Trauma supplies were a bit better off than those to treat radiation sickness, burns, and dehydration but they dwindled too.

“Has it become anarchy down there?” she asked when Rommie passed her again.

“Chan, move this one into Med Deck. Stabilize him, prep for surgery, and one of us will be in as soon as possible,” Rommie commanded a young, black-haired medic. He nodded and took over. Rommie moved on to the next patient and turned to Doyle. “Not far from it. Organics don’t think logically when they’re afraid. These people waited too long and now they fear not everyone will get off. It makes them act erratically.”

Doyle sighed and looked down the corridor as if something might have changed. Maybe gotten easier. In four years she’d felt fear, anger, jealousy, happiness, and more love than she ever thought possible. She’d known helplessness when Trance lay in a coma and there was nothing any of them could do. She’d been confused at how her friend’s people could have done that to one of their own. No hatred, though. And none on New Burke, either. Only abject horror at what the Dragons were capable of. But it burned inside her now. She hated the Lambent Kith Nebula. For what they had done to Trance and their role in the destruction of Earth, and for the suffering here and the suffering they had yet to see.

The hatred she kept inside and used it to fuel her. Spite was a good a reason as any to push through the mental fatigue and keep saving lives. Life was precious, no matter how small.

Still, she couldn’t see a way. “We need a miracle to save all these people,” she said more to herself than Rommie.

Rommie frowned. All of the emotions she’d hidden flooded to the surface. She reached out a hand to a little girl and put it on the child’s cheek as she scanned her with the other. “I wish I believed in miracles.”

 

********************

 

Trance watched Harper trek across the sand, his feet leaving a trail of indents as he went. She stood at the entrance to the copse even after he’d disappeared up the distant steps and into the venue. For all of her admonitions that Beka should find a bright side in all of this—which she had in the form of Charlemagne—Trance was having a hard time doing so today.

Since they arrived, she’d been haunted by the constant, eerie, sense that someone or something lurked just out of sight. Eyes on her back. A piece of information learned long ago and needed, but beyond reach. Like when she’d lost her memories and every day she’d had to make out shapes in the fog to unravel her past. Only now, the fog was thicker and the shapes dim hazy outlines.

Most days she wished Harper would open up to her about the hard feelings before they had too much time to stew in his heart, but tonight she’d given him an out for both their sakes. Her eyes were too heavy and she was jittery from too much caffeine. A short nap after the ceremony hadn’t been enough. Homesickness twisted her gut and turned food to ash in her mouth. 

Beauty all around her and all she wanted Andromeda’s sheltering bulkheads and Dylan’s comforting presence. Andromeda was the only place where she knew how her puzzle piece fit into the whole. There she was a friend, a sister, a daughter, a lover, and a superior officer. Not a symbol for something greater or a bright star for others to follow because they’d lost their own light.

She’d hardly enough energy left to keep her defenses up and her smile in place for the bevy of Commonwealth reporters and delegates that wanted ‘just a word’, much less add another hurricane of emotions on top.

As she was about to turn away and go back into hiding her gaze fell on a couple by the stairs—the same priest and priestess who’d passed by twice earlier. She watched them, curious. They spoke animatedly, and even being so far away with their faces obscured she could read the mutual respect and friendship between them. There was also familiarity in the way each carried themselves. Mannerisms she might be able to place if she studied them long enough. Another shape in her mental fog. Trance narrowed her eyes, determined to solve the mystery.

The Priestess peeled away and as she moved closer Trance was surprised she hadn’t recognized Mayella earlier. Trance ducked behind the copse again in a futile attempt to obscure herself. Mayella’s steps in her direction were purposeful and Trance’s heart sped up, certain that the High Priestess had set out to meet her. She was unsure of what that meant or why it made the air around her buzz with nervous energy.

“You are a difficult woman to get alone,” Mayella said a minute later as she stepped into the little copse, an amused smile on her face. “Your human guards you well.”

Trance straightened herself to her full height, still a few inches short of Mayella’s, and shifted her weight so that it rested on the balls of her feet.

“His name is Harper. He is my partner, not my  _ human _ .” The pieces of the puzzle she’d missed earlier fell into place and the picture became clear. A huge knot formed in her throat and made it impossible to swallow. Her muscles tightened and her hands formed fists as she braced herself to fight or run. One fist hovered over the place where she normally holstered her force lance but it was on the Maru with the rest of their weapons.

Not like anything ever went wrong on diplomatic missions. Not ever. And she’d chided Harper for his insistence they bring them despite the ban. Hindsight was twenty-twenty as the humans were fond of saying.

“Are you wishing for a weapon? You know it won’t do any good.” She stepped closer and Trance held her ground. “You see it now, don’t you? I knew you were close. I could see in your eyes that you sensed it this morning.”

“My force lance would stop you long enough for me to get away. It doesn’t feel very great, either. Plasma blasts hurt.” Her voice was low. Dangerous. Confident. Her heart thrummed and her limbs had liquefied. Trance channeled her mother and put the command of a queen in her voice. “Remove your mask and show me your true form.”

Mayella stepped passed her towards the back of the copse as she removed her mask and Trance turned to face her. A ripple formed in the air like waves of heat on sun-warmed pavement. Deep brown skin with highlights of copper replaced the tanned skin of most Rindrins. Her hair shifted from brown to ocean blue streaked through with green. She shimmered still, the sparkle embedded in her skin and not the result of cosmetics as Trance had believed.

“You aren’t the sun,” she observed. Her heart crashed against her ribcage over and over. Every muscle ached to move and take her away from here.

“No, I'm not but I speak for her.” She extended her arms out. “All you see is me. I am the air that you breathe and the sand beneath your toes. I am these trees you that you took shelter behind.” Mayella moved towards her and Trance flinched despite herself. “You don’t trust me.”

Trust wasn’t even a question. Trance’s head swam. Every moment was a battle to catch her breath, to stand still, to keep her fingers from dancing. To project composure and not terror.

Mayella stepped back as if to give her space again. “I am on your side, Trance Gemini.”

“I have a hard time believing that.” The words came out breathless. The world had become fuzzy around the edges. She couldn’t draw a full breath and couldn’t think . There was nowhere to run from an Avatar. No place to hide. They had found her here and would find her again. Not like she kept a low profile or that the Nebula didn’t know where she lived. And even if she hid, their sight would take them to her; it was only a matter of time. “You could be working for the Nebula.”

She wished Harper would return. Not because he could do anything being weaponless as well, but because she needed to feel him beside her. To have someone she trusted to hold on to and lend her strength as hers failed.

“I am not, but I didn’t think you would believe me. Not really.” Something like disappointment took over for the honey and laughter in her voice. Mayella gazed over Trance’s shoulder, towards the entrance to the copse. “I had hoped, but I knew it was in vain. You have no reason to trust me or my sun, but if you cannot trust me, perhaps you can trust him.”

Trance turned slowly. Her heart, impossibly, picked up speed until it ached in her chest. In the entrance stood the Priest from earlier. In her fear, she had missed the second presence arrive around her, but it touched her mind now. A warm, familiar energy. A part of her life she had missed for so long now.

There was no question who hid behind the mask, but still, she reached out and her hand shook as she removed it. The metal was smooth against her palm and warm from its time against his skin. She let it drop to the sand at their feet. He placed a steadying hand on her waist; his warm touch a reminder of long days climbing trees and speaking of dreams and visions under a deep blue sky. Of family and love.

She stared into eyes she hadn’t seen in thousands of human years. Her breath came out in a sob and she fell into his arms. He held her tight.

“Sol…” She tried to speak, but the words remained stuck inside.

“Hello, sister,” he murmured into her hair. “I am here now.”


	27. Interlude: Finale

Her twin’s arms were warm and strong and it was as if, for the first time in so long, she was home for a brief respite. A short holiday where all that mattered was that the deep empty well inside was not quite so empty anymore. In his arms was shelter, peace, and love.

Words escaped her. Millions of words in languages old and new, yet none could express what filled her heart. So she cried. Cried as if Mayella wasn’t there. As if they were alone someplace secluded and safe rather than a natural shelter of branches and leaves on an open beach. Her skin touched his and a familiar energy passed between them. His presence nestled comfortably in her mind where it had always lived. He was here, alive and unharmed and the relief was like a tidal wave after a quake. It overtook her and swept her away, and if it weren’t for his arms, she might have lost her balance.

She cupped his cheek in her hand and studied his face. When last she’d seen him physically in front of her they’d both been purple. Young adults on the cusp of growing into their true forms. Still so much to learn about the Universe—still so naive. Full of hopes and dreams the way young people often were. The lines on his face were so similar to hers. A thicker jaw line, a slightly wider nose. Eyes a little more narrow and lashes not so long. Beautiful and precious was the face of her first friend. The boy who’d taught her to summon life from the building blocks of it. The boy she’d taught to climb and who had outpaced her over time. When everyone expected her to lead, he was the only person she followed.

“I’ve missed you,” she whispered. The questions finally formed, but she held them back. Built an emotional dam around them and chose to live in this single moment as if there would be no more. Because there might not be and he was here now, smelling of wood and spice, and carrying within him the shared memories of better days. A childhood long gone.

He pulled back and ran his fingers through her hair. “I like this.”

“You’ve changed, too.” She brushed his close cropped red hair with her fingers. His eyes were a little younger than those that stared back at her from the mirror each day. Eyes that had seen so much, but had been spared many of the horrors hers had witnessed.

When had he changed? Had it happened when she came back from the future? Had the bond they shared forced him to take on his adult form as well? They knew so little about how the naturally born Lambent Kith grew, and even less about the bonds between siblings. The loss of her powers had done nothing to remove her bond with Sol. She felt him and realized that she’d always felt him. Distant, but there.

“You came to me when I was dying. You saved me.”

“You called out to me, though I don’t think you remember. I could feel myself losing you, and I could not let that happen. Not a moment before it has to.”

A weight wrapped itself around her heart. Tugged to towards her feet. She would never know her life without Sol in it, but he would know a practical eternity without her. Over time, she would become a memory. A ghost. A voice on the wind. The Nebula had guaranteed that.

Her breath caught. The Nebula. 

“What are you doing here?” she asked when she found her voice. “If the Nebula finds out—”

“They won’t. The entire system is shielding his presence here.” Mayella said in their native language. Strange how she’d greeted her brother in Common, as if even the language centers of her brain had accepted this was her life now. And how he had answered her in Common as well. “It was important we bring him to you. We all understand that he is the only one of you will trust. With good reason.”

We all?

The honey and laughter had gone from her voice. Casual amusement replaced with something akin to reverence. She stepped forward and Trance held her ground, gaze shifting between both of them now, wary of the fourth, invisible presence—something unspoken and life changing. Sol wouldn’t risk it otherwise. He was smarter than that.

“I don’t understand.” That was a lie. There were the words he’d spoken to her before he left her in her coma and a dream that sent her into a panic attack; a nagging sense that Sol was involved in something dangerous. Then there as the Tagris system… The world closed in around her and a headache throbbed behind her eyes.

She needed him to say it, to voice what her heart and mind had puzzled out.

“Sol,” she pressed, “What have you done?”

Mayella took offense to her words. Either the tone or the implication that he’d done something wrong. She stepped forward with an indignant frown marring her pretty face but stopped when Trance raised a hand, whatever she’d been prepared to stay dying on her lips. The High Priestess bowed and cast her eyes to the sand as if she’d been given an order by a superior.

More pieces fell into place. No, not just a superior, a queen.

Something hot flared inside and burned bright. She grabbed at it. “He will speak for himself. I think he owes me that much.” 

Sol’s knowing gaze bored into hers. “You know already,” it said though he remained silent, “You have known since your coma. Since your dream. Since Dylan first told you of the Tagris system. But you buried it like you always do. Hid from the truth so you wouldn’t have to face it and your worries wouldn’t consume you. There was never going to be another outcome—I was always going to fight.”

“Say it, please.”

His brows pinched. They’d always been so close. Two sides of the same coin. Unified and inseparable despite differing worldviews. Sol the warrior leader. Trance the healer queen. Both out to right the wrongs of the Universe in their own way. It was always this way when their difference led them down different paths. Painful, like ripping a physical seam.

His voice was low, tone calm, though his eyes shook. “A large number of our people believe that you are still their rightful ruler and we are opposing the Nebula.”

Unbidden, the image of the first world in the Tagris system came to mind, wrapped in superheated red ribbons where tectonic plates met. There one moment, alive and beautiful, and disintegrated the next. She’d not known the planet’s avatar personally, but she knew of him. His name had been Argal and he’d had a beautiful singing voice. Once, his sun had loved to listen to him sing. Now she’d murdered him and he would never sing again.

“You started a war,” she whispered, “You have proclaimed me the rightful ruler and started a war.”

Sol didn’t deny it.

Silence. Tension. And then Harper’s voice accompanied by a thump in the sand and the sharp stench of alcohol on the breeze. “Holy shit!”

********************

“Captain, we’re exiting Slipstream,” Andromeda announced. Round four of evacuations? Round five? More? Dylan sighed. Should have kept track. Shouldn’t have let that sigh out, either. The crew could see and hear that their stalwart leaders’ strength had begun to flag. They’d follow his lead. Strong captain, strong crew; Commonwealth Leadership 101.

But he was only Human—or Paradine—and he needed more than ten hours of sleep in three days. He’d kept track of that well enough. They all needed the rest but it had to wait.

“Contact the others who’ve already arrived and get in touch with our ground crew. Start figuring out where everyone needs to be,” he ordered.

Outside the viewport was a familiar scene. The fiery sun bore down on yet another planet. It had been an idyllic green and blue marble two months ago. It was brown now and angry storms covered most of the northern hemisphere, winds devastating abandoned cities and townships at last report. In the end, those cities would burn down to their elements. Poetic, almost. The embodiment of ‘nothing ever dies’. Small comfort to those who’d called it home.

“Aye, Captian.” Andromeda spoke for the crew who remained silent but a chorus of beeps sounded off as his crew got to work. He gave Command a slow once-over, turning in place, careful to keep chin up and shoulders back. Dark circles, slumped postures, a few crew members surreptitiously leaned against their consoles to remain upright. They needed a pep talk. Too bad he didn’t have one in him.

He took in the sun once more. In the viewport she looked small and less frightening. There was one less planet less today than there’d been yesterday when they’d left to deliver their precious cargo to one of the refugee colonies.

He had to say something. Anything.

“You are all doing great. I know this has been a grind and there is a lot more work to do…” Outside, a slip portal opened and four ships exited, then swarmed around the Andromeda. Out of the corner of his eye he watched them take up formation on a nearby monitor. He heard a young Lieutenant make contact in a hushed tones. “I am proud of all of you. Your work here is making a difference. You’re saving lives.”

Nods all around. The men and women in Command pulled themselves up a little straighter. Wasn’t much but he was asking a lot of them. 

He missed Harper’s loud complaints and poorly timed jokes. Trance’s silent encouragements. Beka’s strong, no nonsense presence beside him. They were doing better where they were. The footage that had come in from Rindra last night had done more to boost morale than his meager speeches. Trance stole the spotlight with her steady presence on camera and her careful interview answers speaking to the hope the Commonwealth brought the Known Worlds. Harper’s good humor and easy smiles—the jokes he cracked with the reporters—had brightened Command during the night shift. And the rumor mill buzzed around footage of Beka and Charlemagne cutting up the dance floor at the reception. There was a story there, and he was eager to crack open a beer over the Maru’s beaten up table so Beka could tell it.

His senior officers, from far away, had given the rest of the crew a well-timed reminder of what they were all fighting for.

“Sir, incoming message from Commander Rhade,” a Nietzschean lieutenant reported.

“Put it through.”

Rhade’s image appeared on the screen. He stood in a temporary enclosure with fabric sides that rippled violently. The wind roared and made it difficult to understand him at first. “We have… ready to go. It’s more orderly here, less fighting. Everyone… assigned their ships, just waiting. Wind conditions are going to slow drop pods and landings down.”

The roar of the wind grew louder. Off to the side men and women shouted, surprised. At the same time, the tent behind Rhade lifted. Behind the fabric a wall of dust and small debris blew past as two large men with goggles over their eyes and stakes in their hands rushed over to tack the canvas down again.

“Thanks for keeping us updated. We are waiting on a few more ships, and then will coordinate. ETA one hour.”

“Got it, we’ll try to hold down the fort here.”

Dylan’s lips twitched at the joke. “Stay safe. See you soon.”

The comm closed just in time for another slipstream portal to open, bringing about a dozen ships to the sector. Unexpected, though. That portal was on the wrong side of the sector and it was supposed to be at least ten minutes before the next group arrived. This was a no fly zone and the message was broadcast around every known slipstream portal that lead here. He really didn’t want a fight today.

“Andromeda, report. Who do those ships belong to?” They were too far away for him to make out details on the view port, but their outline was vaguely familiar.

“Dylan, those are Sabra-Jaguar ships,” Rommie said. He turned and she marched onto Command with her eyes narrowed. She raised an eyebrow, “They are hailing us specifically.”

“On screen.” The energy around the room changed. Curiosity and interest pushed away the heavy pall of exhaustion. Made the air lighter. His crew stood taller. Put on their polished faces as the face of a young Nietzschean captain with black hair and sharp cheeks very like Charlemagne’s. Cousins, perhaps?

“This is Captain Dylan Hunt of the Andromeda Ascendant. You are currently in a highly unstable no fly zone. Can we be of any assistance?” Level tone. No hint of curiosity. No cracks in his facade for this Jaguar to exploit.

“Captain Francoise de Lafayette. We are here to assist under the direct orders of Archduke Bolivar and at the direction of the Matriarch.”

Beka had a story to tell, indeed.

********************

“Again with the weapons,” Mayella said and Trance looked away from Sol to see Harper at the entrance of the copse banging a fist into his hip where his gauss gun should have been. The battle between fight or flight played across his entire body. His knuckles were white, jaw set with teeth clenched tight, and his shoulders quivered with tension. The sand by his feet soaked up a pungent electric blue liquid. Citrus, cut into the shape of flowers, lay on top beside two large stem glasses. Mayella stepped forward again. “It wouldn’t do any good anyway.”

“It would stop you long enough for us to get away. I’m pretty good, I could have shot both of you before you had time to react,” he said and stood his ground, bouncing on his feet from the electricity in his veins.

“That’s what she said.” Mayella nodded in Trance’s direction, a bit of amusement creeping back into her voice, but she didn’t step forward again and folded into herself, more on guard with Harper that she’d been with Trance. Mayella’s eyes darted between Harper and Sol, giving the impression of a cornered mother wolf guarding her cubs.

Harper, in a show of agility, crouched down and pulled a kitchen knife from his boot before springing up again with it held before him. Trance almost laughed. Her head was a violent storm of emotions she could hardly untangle from one another: anger, fear, relief, love, and so much more. She could hardly think. Yet, here was Harper. Wonderful, protective, and predictable Harper. How had she not noticed he was packing the cutlery all evening?

A smile broke through the tears. Sol’s eyes narrowed in confusion. Never once had one of her lovers threatened to shoot or stab him and no doubt he wondered why it brought a smile to her face. She squeezed his arm then stepped around him, willing the High Priestess to stay put so she could de-escalate before Harper did something stupid.

“I don’t think the chef knife is going to do any good, Seamus. You should probably drop it before you accidentally hurt one of us.” She reached out her hands to him. He glanced at the knife, then her face, and let the knife fall beside the cups in the sand. Its steel blade gleamed in the moonlight. “They don’t mean me any harm, I promise.”

His fingers curled around hers and he pressed his thumbs into the tops of her hands. She held on with vice-like grip. It was as if his touch had given her access to a new well of strength. This man who’d drawn a kitchen knife to defend her from gods. His power was hers to share. 

But Harper was as conflicted too. All of it was on the surface for her to read. His desire to take her in his arms because she was safe and he was glad. Guilt that he’d left her alone in the first place. Fear that made him want to take her and make their escape. But above it all, the remarkable strength of will that held him in place under this canopy of colorful leaves and twinkling lights, so close to those he perceived as threats. She met his eyes, tried to reassure him that they were safe.

“I would like you to meet someone,” she said carefully, and with effort, extracted one hand. She pulled him with her until he stood face to face with Sol. Her brother had remained in place and had not turned around. He shifted his eyes from Mayella to her, and a slightly outstretched hand indicated he’d ordered the High Priestess to stay in place. Like when they were younger, Sol had known what she wanted without a single word. Harper’s arm went stiff beside her as he planted himself firmly in place as if his feet had grown roots. His mouth fell open.

“Harper, this is my brother, Sol,” she said. “He will not hurt me or let anyone else do so.”

 

“So, decided this was a great time for a family reunion?” Harper asked through nervous laughter, filling the awkward silence with the sound of his voice. 

Trance didn’t miss the accusation in his tone. Sol didn’t either. His face twitched, but he didn’t reply. This wasn’t how she’d imagined introducing Harper to Sol. Now they sized each other up.

“Sol was just telling me how he’s started a war in my name,” she said, breaking in.

“We should not speak of this in front of—” Mayella started, but Trance cut her off.

“Organics? I will not keep secrets from Harper.”

“It’s not a war,” Sol said in Common. “It is a Resistance.”

Trance squeezed Harper’s hand before she spoke. The music of the party seemed so far away now. Their little copse was almost claustrophobic, but they couldn’t take this conversation out into the open. He squeezed back.

“Isn’t that the same thing?” she asked, willing strength into her voice. “A resistance is just a war fought underground. People die either way.”

********************

The air in the conference room was thick. The table emptier than usual. Three spots left open with three fewer voices to help him come up with solutions and they needed solutions because even with the Sabra-Jaguar pride’s help, the fleet’s supplies had almost run dry. They needed to mobilize faster to get sick, injured, and frightened people to the refugee colonies so that they could get care from facilities equipped to care for them. A warship wasn’t a medical frigate no matter how much they tried to make it one. But the laws of physics would not bend to his will. Not today.

“I need ideas,” Dylan said. Doyle looked up from her hands and shook her head. Rommie, standing at the front of the room, as she often did, looked him in the eyes, but offered no suggestions.

“We could figure out how to tesseract. That’s the only thing that is going to help us in this situation,” Rhade replied. Why were Nietzscheans always so pessimistic? Why not a little optimism of once? A smidgen of hope. The Commonwealth came back to life bit by bit, planet by planet, when everyone said it couldn’t be done. If the Commonwealth could rise from the ashes like a phoenix, this small fleet sure as hell could evacuate an entire system before its sun ate all its planets.

“Any answers that don’t involve dangerous technology that hasn’t been invented yet?” Wasn’t even going to deem Rhade’s reply worth a response.

Silence. Why had he even called this meeting?

When no one said anything he shook his head, “Fine, thanks for the reports, let’s get back to work.”

Wasn’t his most inspirational moment. The call to action didn’t quite have that ‘fight to the bitter end’ ring to it. Fatigue had settled over him like a cloak. Had sunk deep into his bones and all he wanted right now was a nap. Or a vacation. Even better, a vacation with ample time for napping. But the Universe was in upheaval as if it had decided that his three-hundred year nap had been ample enough time to rest. 

He rubbed his eyes as he exited the conference room and headed towards the ladder. Thirty steps, one ladder, and twelve more steps. That was all the time he had to compose himself before hitting Command. Would he even know what to do with himself without a mission? Without the threat of destruction lurking behind him like an uncomfortable shadow who had over time become as familiar to him as his own? Maybe he’d been a soldier too long. Maybe he’d even have been uncomfortable with Sara had they had the chance to marry and raise a family. Maybe Dylan Hunt was made for harder things.

Then there was Trance. Was the Dylan who’d met her on that riverbank so long ago older or younger than him before the timeline changed? Was Sara his first love, or Avera?

He gripped the ladder and tried to remember that time as he had often these last few weeks. To pull his history from the subconscious and into active memory. One came to him.

There they were on a warm day with no clouds to block out the sun. Trance and Sol stood ankle deep in water on the shore of a huge lake with their younger sister, Stella, between them. They were all three dressed for swimming, and the twins each held one of Stella’s tiny hands.

“It’s okay. It’s scary at first and it hurts a little, but you’ll learn to hold your breath. You don’t really need to breathe, just like you don’t really need to eat. Your sun gives you everything you need.” Trance said, looking down at her sister with a smile. If she were human, she’d be about seven. Stella only three.

“I don’t want to die,” Stella said in her tiny voice. Though she was much older than three, it still astonished him that someone so tiny was aware of her mortality. He always forgot that they were only children in nature and size. The poor thing had been terrified of the deep, dark waters as long as Dylan had known her. He suspected the twins had bribed her with sweets and shining things to get her this far. 

“We don’t really die,” Sol said. “Just sleep until we are better. The water can’t kill us anyway. It’s only pain, and you can learn to ignore it.”

“But we will try not to stay under so long it hurts, okay?” Trance said.

“I can’t believe she agreed to this.” Dylan told Avera who sat beside him further up on the grassy shore, his arm wrapped around her shoulders. The breeze that blew her long hair into his face carried the laughter of more children playing in a field nearby and smelled of sweet, loamy soil.

“They are each persuasive alone, and more-so together. She’d do anything one of the twins asked of her. I only hope they use their powers of persuasion for good, not mischief.” The love of a mother shone through her words and Dylan kissed her hair as he watched the trio wade deeper into the water until the it was up to the twins’ necks. Stella floated between, supported by her siblings’ hands, a bright smile on her tiny face.

Dylan shook off the memory as he reached the Command Deck, but held onto the lingering warmth of the moment.

Command buzzed with activity. The harsh orange of the sun burned his retinas though Andromeda had lowered the screen’s brightness. He took a deep breath, ready to start giving orders again when Andromeda popped up on screen.

“Captain, I’m sensing some strange—” She didn’t finish. A brief flash and before him, as if his memories has summoned her, stood Stella in a simple black bodysuit. Her purple skin had faded, and her cheeks and neck were dusted with gold. Her hair had begun to take on hints of red like her sister’s and her mother’s. A nervous smile graced a face that resembled Trance’s enough to prove them sisters. A look out of the corner of his eye showed that Rhade had seen it by the way he squinted at her. Beside Stella was another familiar face. Both from the Paradine Dylan’s past and Captain Hunt’s. Flux, with blue skin, horns, and nervous black eyes.

Force lances came to life around them as the Command crew reacted to the intruders. He held up a hand to stop anyone from shooting, but made note to commend them on their quick reactions.

Stella’s gaze moved around Command, then fell on Dylan. She smiled more widely and spoke in Vedran. “Hi Dylan. It’s been a long time, even for me.”

********************

Trance locked gazes with Sol. The stubborn set of his jaw and the straight line made by his lips, she knew, was mirrored on her own face. His dark eyes flashed. He hadn’t expected this. As children, she’d allowed him to make the decisions and she quietly abstained if she disagreed. They weren’t prone to arguing.

Perhaps she’d spent too much time around Harper, or maybe she’d grown far more than he expected.

“We, your people, know that you are still our path to the perfect possible future. You alone can bring the dawn,” Mayella said. Trance glanced at her. All traces of humor had bled from Mayella and soaked into the sand like the beautiful drinks Harper had carried here. She pleaded with Trance to understand without saying a word. But Trance didn’t want to understand.

Through their touch she sensed Harper’s unease growing, no doubt fueled by hers. She shook her head at Mayella.

“There is no perfect possible future. Perfection is the lie that we tell ourselves to justify the lives we ruin in pursuit of it.” A part of her soul ripped as she spoke, a sharp pain deep inside. It throbbed with the flashes of memory that came to her. 

10,000 Nietzschean deaths at the Witch Head Nebula, an encounter she’d ensured would happen at the behest of her people. They were soldiers who’d destroy the last remnants of the Commonwealth if not stopped but also fathers, brothers husbands, sisters, and daughters. Later, Harper writhing in pain as the Magog larvae in his gut tried to eat their way out of him and she stood helplessly by telling Dylan that he only had a week, at most, to live. Their time in Seefra, and how it had left scars on the souls of her friends. Choices made in pursuit of perfection.

Idealism made her a soldier. War torn and weary, she faced a brother who wanted to take on that life without understanding the cost of it. The twinkling lights in the trees blurred into orbs with insubstantial edges as tears threatened again.

Enough with these useless tears. She’d cried a lifetime’s worth since the the Worldship arrived on the doorstep of civilization at the Arkology and threatened the Known Worlds with an agonizing and bloody death. 

She blinked them away and buried the ache in her heart. Wished the tide could carry it far out to the sea and drown it so it would never plague her again. Maybe it could carry her far away from her worries, too. Find her someplace to call home with the sun shining down and fertile soil to grow flowers in.

Sol reached out to her and Harper stirred. Though he remained silent, he gripped her hand tighter and took on a protective stance, digging his feet into the sand, muscles tensing as if ready to spring. But there was no threat in Sol’s features. Only deep lines around the mouth and the shimmer of tears in his eyes.

“You really have lost hope.” His fingers brushed her cheek. “You have to see that the Nebula needs to be defeated. For the good of our people and the Universe.”

Mayella straightened herself. “We understand we cannot fight in the way organics fight. Casualties have been low. Our goal isn’t to destabilize the Universe, but to protect life.”

Trance shifted her gaze to Harper. His eyes were gray and stormy and the lights flashed like lightning as his pupils darted between each of them. Alert. On guard. Ready to fight even though he stood little chance of survival against one avatar, much less two. He was the reason she was alive today, even more so than Sol. He’d found her alone among her pillows in her secret closet and dragged her out so Andromeda could save her.

“Whose lives?” she asked. “When you talk about protecting lives, are you talking about the lives of our people or the organics?”

Sol and Mayella’s silence was all she needed. She let go of Harper’s hand and took her brother’s, stepping slightly in front of Harper. The energy between her and Sol took on a jagged quality that raised the hairs on her arms and prickled the back of her neck. The bubbling mess of emotions in his eyes was familiar to her. It showed through Harper’s eyes every day. The pain of losses so profound there were no words to express them. The anger and the rage at those who’d wronged him. Sharp, piercing hatred. She hadn’t seen it through the sadness in her fever dream. Or maybe it had grown since then. Either way it was here and her heart squeezed, because she understood now why he’d chosen to wage this war.

She switched languages to an Ancient Egyptian with a quick side-glance at Mayella. This was personal and not for the ears of outsiders.

She motioned towards Harper. “Does his life mean nothing?” An unkind move, perhaps, but it would illustrate her point best.

“Of course not. You love him.”

The expected answer; the product of epochs of conditioning and fueled by living lives separate from the rest of the creatures that populated their Universe. Though Sol had been infected, long ago, with her unique views on life and cared more for the Humans he nourished than most Lambent Kith did for organics, he’d never jumped over the ledge into the belief that Humans and other organics could be partners—even equals.

“So it is my love that gives his life value?” she pressed.

Sol didn’t speak for a long moment. A new band began to play a flowing number on strings. Nearby, a woman laughed the airy laughter of the unburdened. The chatter of those in the woman’s group rose to a peak and then faded away as they moved further down the beach. The breeze picked up and chilled Trance, lifting the hairs on her arms. She suppressed a shiver. Above her the leaves rustled and the lights shifted, casting odd shadows on the faces of her companions.

She placed her hand on his cheek. The skin was smooth beneath her palm. “Everyone is loved by someone. All those in the Tagris system… The healers, architects, artists, chefs and teachers—even the criminals. They all have people who love them as much as I love you.”

“We have people in the Tagris system right now helping to evacuate it. We didn’t forget about the people there,” Sol said, but he didn’t sound convinced by his own defense. Behind the anger and hatred was self doubt. It’s why he had come to her. Why he wanted—needed—for her to lead. If she took control it would reduce the weight of his choices.

But he’d started this.

She took her hand from his face and took both his hands between them again. “These are not war games fought with sticks and theatrics and whispered strategies under a clear blue sky. There are real lives. People are dying and billions have been displaced.” She shook her head, let her pain show through. “I will not lead your resistance. I am sorry.”

Cracks formed in both her heart and resolve as the hurt she’d read in Sol’s eyes bled into his expression forming deep crevices on his forehead and lines beside his lips. 

“We knew there was little chance she would agree tonight.” Mayella’s expression was grave, her eyes clouded with disappointment. Her tone gave away a battle inside to remain hopeful. Like Harper every time he lost a bet he’d expected to win though the deck was stacked against him. That almost youthful belief that just once, things might go his way. It didn’t surprise Trance that they’d walked through this conversation already. But it did surprise Trance that Mayella truly wanted her—as powerless and as organic as the Rindrans—to be her queen.

“Your probability waves told you that, didn’t they?” Trance asked as she released Sol’s hands and turned to Mayella. She let herself soften towards the High Priestess. Not too long ago she would have called her sister despite having never met. “Did they tell you why? Were you able to see that far?”

“No.” Mayella kept her chin and gaze down deferentially. 

Trance reached out and lifted Mayella’s chin. “We fight our way through chaos every day. Even when we can see the future, we still don’t know which path will lead to our desired outcome. But our intentions can guide us. When you start out with good, you have a better chance of ending up with good.” She’d told Dylan as much once before. She glanced over her shoulder first to Sol and then to Harper. The men’s eyes were on her, watching and listening. “Anger, hatred, and a need for vengeance are not good. They are ugly, soul consuming things.”

What came next would hurt Sol and would rip open the wounds healing on her heart. But it needed to be done. She turned her back to Mayella and Sol and moved with her head held high towards the entrance of the copse. Harper, gaze shifting nervously between the other two, followed and stepped beside her. Confusion was etched into his every move. Sol moved to stand before her. Trance took a deep breath and pushed her pain even deeper. 

“As long as vengeance is your reason for fighting, I cannot be a part of your war, brother. I will not be a symbol for your resistance because of what I have lost—what we have lost.” She leaned forward and kissed Sol’s cheek. Breathed in his earthy scent. Closed her eyes and allowed his energy to warm her. Memorized the feel of having him near. Her brother who she’d missed for so long. “Goodbye, Sol.”

And she left him standing there with Mayella. Turned her back and walked away, pulling a mask of calm over her face for the reporters. A moment later, Harper’s hand found hers.

“I think we can ditch this shindig now. Screw what the reporters think,” he said. She only nodded and leaned into him, exhausted.

********************

“Stella?” Dylan asked, unable to believe his eyes.

She smiled brightly. The deck fell silent save for the shuffling fabric of interested crew leaning in to hear better, though they would understand little of the conversation. 

“Yep, in the flesh. It’s odd, I always knew there was someone there when we were children. Someone my mother loved, and who loved us but I could never see his face no matter how hard I tried. Then, a few weeks ago, by the way you count time, I knew—it was you. It is so good to see you.”

“I’m—surprised to see you. What are you doing here?”

“We’re here to help.” She motioned toward the view port with her chin, the smile fading to a frown.

“Even him? Last time I saw Flux he tried to kill Trance.”

Stella turned to her companion and raised her brows, eyes sparkling with that playfulness he’d missed in Trance after she traded places with herself. He knew it from when Stella was a child, too. A little girl who loved stories and sensed there was one to be had. 

Flux’s eyes went wide and he held his hands in front of him. “I didn’t mean it, and to be fair, she punched me pretty hard in the gut. It was all part of the act. I promise there were no hard feelings between us. I would never hurt her, you have to believe me Dylan. Besides, it’s best we don’t rehash the past at this moment. There are more pressing concerns.”

Stella nodded again. “He’s right. We—both Flux and I—are here on behalf of the Resistance. I know we’re a bit late, but I had some trouble getting away from the Nebula.” She shrugged the way a teenager did when talking about breaking Mom’s rules, not someone defying the all powerful council she was a part of. “We have 32 people standing by to tesseract the remaining Tagarians directly to the refugee colonies. Another two dozen or so are ready to swoop in with medical supplies and expertise.

Dylan’s mouth went dry. The Resistance. The little girl from his memory, so timid and afraid with water lapping around her ankles, stood before him, a grown woman risking her life with a smile on her face. Avera’s children were always meant to face the darkness head on. It had cost Trance her powers and her future. Now he feared what it would cost Stella.

“You risk exposing your people by helping, and if the Nebula finds out—”

“They’ll kill us both,” she said without hesitation, and with no concern in her expression. She’d weighed the risks and accepted them already. She gestured towards a console and he stepped towards it. The ensign manning it moved across the deck. Dylan tapped in the commands to unlock it, giving Stella basic access. Her fingers danced over it until she’d created up a list of sensor specifications. 

“We have a little bit of insurance against that. If you have all of the ships in your fleet and every refugee colony emit broadband interference at these frequencies, it should mask my resistance workers. The Nebula will be able to sense there is Kith activity, but they won’t be able to tell how many are here, or identify us. It won’t work forever, but by the time they figure it out we’ll have another strategy to keep them guessing.”

“Andromeda, did you get all that?” he asked shifting into Common again. 

Andromeda popped up on screen. She gave Stella and Flux a professional nod. “Aye Captain, what would you like me to do?”

“Send the specifications out across the fleet. Order them to comply. Send couriers to the refugee colonies and have them do the same.” He turned to Stella and switched back into Vedran, glad his parents spoke it alongside Common growing up on Tarn Vedra. Even out of practice it flowed with the ease of a native language. “Are you certain none of your people have infiltrated any of our ships?”

“I am able to shield my thoughts from the Nebula, but they cannot shield from me anything they decide as a unit. If any are in this system right now, they weren’t sent by the full council. And, while I don’t see as well as Trance did, the probability we will succeed here is high.”

Must be nice to know how the odds are stacked. It reassured him, but he worried for this woman he helped raise. Though the memories were still returning, his feelings told him all he needed to know about their relationship.

“Why do this? Why risk your life? When Trance finds out she’s going to worry.”

Flux laughed. “That’s hardly anything new. Trance worries, it’s what she does. It’s in her nature.” Then, his lips formed a straight, serious line. “We need to be here. There is no way that your organic fleet can save all these people, though your attempts are as impressive as they are valiant. And if I know Trance, these lives are precious to her though she’s never spent and time here and even far away on Rindra she is concerned over them.”

“It is the right thing to do,” Stella said, giving Flux a small smile. “Even if it is hard, dangerous, and scary… it is right.”

Dylan touched Stella’s cheek before pulling her into an embrace, unconcerned with what the crew might think

“Two months ago I thought I’d never have children, and now I know I had a whole family.” He kissed her hair, his heart filled to overflowing. “I am so proud of you and the woman you’ve grown into.”

Stella beamed. “That means so much to me. Now, let’s get to work.”

 

********************

Trance sat in front of the vanity in their room, her reflection showing in the light lined mirror. She pulled her comb through her curls, taking small sections of her hair and teasing out the tangles. Silent and serious, as if it were a type of meditation. Harper had not yet tired of watching her go through these small routines every night and every morning. The domesticity appealed to him. Made it more intimate than any relationship he’d been in before.

She stopped and stared at her reflection for a moment. Her shoulders rose and fell as she released a deep breath. She set the comb down in front of her, but remained in place. It was hard to see her expression from here, but he didn’t need to. The slope of her shoulders gave way the invisible weight stacked on top of them. He’d given her space and room to breathe, allowed her to keep her silence as they rode back to the penthouse, but they were alone now, and this is not something she could bury.

“Why don’t you come here and tell me?” He patted the down comforter beside him. For a beat, she remained in place and he wondered if she were so lost inside her thoughts that she hadn’t heard but just as he was about to repeat himself she turned in her chair and stood. His eyes brushed over her body, taking in her bare, rose-gold dusted legs, the tiny shorts and tank top that barely brushed her waist band. Her hair hung loose around her shoulders. This had become their new normal. A world where she literally let her hair down with him.

She climbed onto the bed and curled those legs up beside her. He wrapped his arm around her, coaxing her closer until her side pressed against his. He placed a kiss on her head.

“What’s going on in there?” he asked for the second time that night.

They’d left the curtains open to the night sky and the city lights. The room was done up in wood and warm colors with floral prints on the upholstery and large vases containing ferns and other tropical plants all around. Trance had added a few over the last couple of days. Her unfocused eyes rested on a pot of pink flowers set against emerald leaves, each blossom larger than his fist.

“That was kind of monumentally huge thing to spring on you,” he tried when she remained silent.

“We don’t normally fight,” she said finally.

He almost laughed. Not because the situation warranted it, but because he wouldn’t have applied the word fight to what he’d seen. Not even close.

“That was the most civil fight I have ever seen between siblings. Did I tell you that I pulled a gun on my cousin last time I saw him? Wasn’t the first time either. That’s how cousins and siblings fight on Earth.” He kept his tone light. The corner of her mouth tugged up. He left out the context of his fight. How he’d threatened to shoot if Brendan didn’t call off the revolution they’d started before it turned into a bloody massacre.

“It was a fight, nonetheless.” Her voice cracked. He wished he could kiss away the pain, grief and longing that surrounded her. She laid her head down on his shoulder. “I just want to go home.”

“Couple more days, babe. I’ve got a couple things I want to show you, maybe that will keep your mind off everything until we get back to the Maru.” Then, something that had been nagging at him since they left the party began knocking the inside of his skull. Wouldn’t leave him alone. “I just…” But he trailed off, not sure if this was the right time.

She lifted her head and met his eyes. “What is it?”

He fidgeted. Should never have opened his mouth in the first place because now she was giving him that look he could never ignore, the one that told him to tell her everything or she would figure out a way to extract it from him.

“Well—I mean—don’t you think he might be right? Who else is gonna stand up to the Nebula if not a bunch of stars and you are still alive, so you are technically their queen unless there is a stipulation that your powers and immortality must be intact. It seems to me that you are as much a player in this game of thrones as they are.”

He waited for anger, or a disagreement but it didn’t come.

“Of course he’s right. It is rare that in an argument one party is completely right and the other party completely wrong.” She was so damned reasonable all the time. How’d she do it? Then she spoke again with a childish pout. “But I am more right and he is more wrong. He’ll see it eventually.”

This time, Harper did laugh. “Now that sounds more like a sibling.”

She allowed a tiny smile of her own and then the frown returned, bringing watery company. One tear and then another spilled from her eyes and journeyed down her cheeks. He tightened his hold on her and she laid her head on his shoulder again. “I cannot support him in this. Even if it is right. Even if I had the strength to be the queen he wants me to be—and I am not sure I do—he isn’t doing it for a better Universe. He is doing it out of anger, and desire to make the Nebula hurt the way they’ve hurt him. That path only leads to darkness, and more death.”

“How long does the silent treatment last then? How long before he sees that you are…more right.”

Now she fidgeted. Played with the down comforter, pressing it down in intervals until peaks and valleys formed then smoothing them out. He cleared his throat after a few moments of watching her methodical movements.

“The longest was two thousand years.”

“Two thousand years?” He punctuated each word because holy crap that was a long time. “What did you guys fight about?”

Her fingers stopped moving and hovered over the comforter. She lifted her head again and when their eyes met he thought he might lose himself in hers.

“The Nebula. He told me not to join, that he did not trust them. I told him it was my duty.” She sighed. “That time he was more right, but we didn’t see it for far too long.”

He kissed her forehead. “We don’t have two thousand years.”

“He won’t take that long. For us it will be months before he contacts me again. For him, it will be like stepping outside to take a few breaths and cool down.”

“And then?”

“And then we will see what the Universe will require from us.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And now on to part two! My little interlude grew a lot longer than I meant it to. Thank for reading. I appreciate all of you more than you know.


	28. Simmer

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Wow, a month and a half. Life gave me one hell of a ride in July and the beginning of August, but I'm back now. This begins part two!

The holographic gaming rig beeped and before him floated a large, three-dimensional number ten—blocky, white, and carrying with it a hint of authority. Through it he could make out Trance’s outline. Hair done up in a braid. Athletic shorts and sports bra with training shoes instead of her usual slouchy boots. She stood ready with knees bent and hands palm out in front of her like she was ordering him to stop. Her muscles were taut and eyes on the numbers. Ready to compete—not enjoying the view—like him. Maybe that’s why he hadn’t won a game yet?

“Countdown begun,” the console announced in a flat, feminine voice and the ten flashed to nine.

Harper tore his eyes off Trance and focused on the numbers. He shifted his weight to the balls of his feet and put his arms up like a boxer in the ring. Lifted his shoulders and let them fall a few times then took a couple of deep breaths. Time to get his game face on.

“Ready to lose?” he asked.

She smiled and raised her brows. “What makes you think this game’s going to be any different?”

Seven. Six. Five.

“You can’t win every time, and Seamus Harper is nothing, if not optimistic.”

Three. Two.

“You have to keep your eyes on the orbs if you want to win.” Playful laughter followed. So she’d noticed him watching. No big surprise there.

One. Zero.

A bell rang and a pale orange and green orb appeared between them with a ‘shoom’. A five-minute timer popped up above the playing field. Trance lunged for the orange orb, hitting it a second before he got to the green orb. Off to the side of him, a floating green ‘1’ appeared.  Shoom. Two more orbs. They each lunged for their respective colors. The game continued, orbs coming first in quicker intervals and then multiple orbs at once. Soft, musical tones filled the recreational bay with each orb defeated.

Three minutes left.

They’d begun the game outside of the playing field but moved in as it intensified. Now they stood side by side and the game positioned the orbs around their bodies. They lunged and moved around each other in a strange dance, his heart giving him a swift and steady beat to follow. The pace picked up and sweat dripped from his hairline. His muscles burned pleasantly as he crouched and jumped and worked them out.

Two minutes left.

All that existed now was the playing field. Trance reached in front of him for one of her orbs and then darted away to grab another, and he lost his focus as he had in each of five games they’d already played. Quick and agile as he was—for a human—Trance moved with a grace and speed he couldn’t match.

Sometimes, in moments of boredom, he watched her retrain the acrobatics skills that had made her so useful as a thief on the Maru. Looked on as she pulled herself up on the uneven bars, twisting and spinning around them. Marveled as she ran and flipped off a springboard into a pit of foam, her body doing impossible things in the air. It was that way now. She moved like the gymnast she was. Reflexes so fast it was as if she knew where they would be a split second before they appeared. Mesmerizing. Nine months ago she’d needed nanobots to strengthen her muscles enough to walk. Now look at her go.

One minute left.

The bay door opened and he only noticed because the light shifted. Beka and Dylan’s voices mingled with the game’s music and then dropped off and he assumed they’d stopped to watch. He glanced at his score, then Trance’s. Surprisingly, not too far apart. Time to focus again. Get back in the game.

He darted for the next orb and jumped to another after. They stood back to back for a moment and then switched places. Orbs buzzed around them as they disappeared, some coming and going too fast for either of them to reach now. Colorful chaos. He pushed himself harder than he had in any of their earlier games so that his calf muscles screamed and his lungs burned. The air must have gotten thicker for how heavy his arms felt. But his score climbed until for the first time all night, it topped Trance’s. All it had taken was everything he had.

But thirty seconds remained.

Seamus Harper didn’t just rely on optimism to reach his goals. Or even hard work. Wasn’t the Harper way. With a huge smile he lunged forward, but instead of tagging an orb, he grabbed Trance around the waist with one arm and sought out a ticklish spot with his free hand. She squeaked and laughed as the timer wound down and the console announced, “Green Wins”.

“You cheated,” Trance said through laughter.

“You’re surprised?” He shrugged and tickled her again for good measure. “Besides, I prefer to think of it as employing creative strategies to ensure my success.”

“Looked like cheating to me,” Beka said and Harper released Trance. Beka and Dylan stood off to the side dressed casually, both sporting wide smiles.

Trance’s shoulders danced and that wide, toothy smile he loved stretched across her face. She winked. “See, Beka saw. You’re a cheater.”

“How else am I supposed to get ahead?” Harper dipped down and picked up Trance’s water bottle, tossed it to her, and grabbed his own. He looked to Dylan for backup. “Did you see the way she moves? A lowly human like me can’t hope to compete.”

Trance took a long drink from her bottle, then turned to him. “You could easily if you stopped getting distracted.” Emphasis on ‘distracted’. Who? Him? Never. Such slander from such a beautiful woman.   
The bay doors hissed open again and a drone wandered in, a cart laden with snacks and drinks. Friday game night was officially a go.

“Nope, can’t win,” he teased, “you’re far too flexible and agile.”

Trance raised her eyebrows and locked her eyes with his, mischief gleaming in them “You’ve never once complained about my flexibility before.” She swayed her hips for good measure.

Dylan coughed and Harper’s cheeks grew hot. He stole a quick kiss and through his own laughter, rising from deep within his belly, said “Cool it, Flapjack. You’re fiesty today.”

Beka snickered. “That’s a lovely shade of red you’ve got going on there, Harper. We should take a picture for posterity.”

The drone left and as it headed out Rhade, Doyle, and Rommie made their way in. Friday nights were something to look forward to. The Universe had gone insane in the six months since the Tagarian sun ate its system. Political upheavals, natural disasters, border skirmishes and far more Nietzschean activity than Harper wanted to ponder. Everything Trance warned would happen when she told the story of her people months ago. Every other day another fire, and as the flagship, they were the firefighters— Andromeda and Beka’s merry band of Nietzschean loyalists.

No wonder they needed a break.

“You started the party without us?” Rhade asked when his eyes met Harper’s. Speaking of Nietzscheans.

“Oh come on, who invited him?” Harper asked, bumping his shoulder against Rhade’s arm as he moved past towards the drinks and snacks.

“Ha. Ha.” Rhade turned to follow. “Maybe you should have showered before you showed up. Looks like you came right from the gym.”

“You’ve smelled worse,” Harper replied with a grin. “We weren’t partying, we were exercising. Even though she was sick all last week Trance decided she absolutely needed a workout today because Doyle cleared her yesterday and she didn’t get one this morning. The environmental systems on deck two section four in hydroponics freaked out and almost killed the entire crop of pines she’s been growing for the Del Arsa mountain range on Tarn Vedra. ”

“They only exist on one other world that I know of and it is an extremely fickle plant. I’ve spent the last five months trying to engineer a faster growing version. This is the first crop that’s survived.” Trance explained, worried creases above her brow. Like a mother talking about a sick child. “It’s going to be a few days before I know if there’s been any lasting harm.”

“Don’t you have enough work to do on Andromeda without practically running the environmental restoration project yourself?” Rhade asked. “No wonder you keep getting sick, working two full time jobs.”

Trance shrugged, “I don’t like to be bored.”

Beka stepped in beside them and picked up a plate. “Thank God, I’m starving.” She loaded it up with chips and sandwiches, then glanced at the drink table. “So Trance, your night to plan, what’s there to drink?”

“For you, fresh squeezed lemonade. For those who want alcohol, lemon margaritas. The lemon trees are fruiting so much right now. We’ll have quite a few in stasis soon.”

Trance had told him that she’d planted the lemons as a reminder for both of them that life was what you made of it. The whole Earth garden, not just the lemons, thrived under her care and it smelled of sweet citrus, strawberries, and roses. If he squinted his eyes it was like looking at a stained glass window with dozens of colors bleeding together. The answer Trance didn’t give to Rhade, the reason she worked so hard, was that she hoped to bring the whole of Tarn Vedra back to life the way she’d brought a small bit of Earth back on Andromeda. She hoped to see her world beautiful again.

“Lemon margaritas?” Dylan asked, pouring the yellow liquid into a stem glass.

Harper grabbed a finger sandwich off the table and took a bite, savoring the cured meat. Synthesized, but still delicious. “You know, if life gives you lemons, make lemon margaritas?”

“I thought that was lemonade?” Dylan nodded towards the second pitcher Beka held in her hand.

“Margaritas are a bit more fun. Don’t you think?” Trance asked. She carried her plate and margarita over to a long glass table with seats for seven and Harper followed. Doyle and Rommie had already taken their seats and spoke in hushed tones. The women smiled when he and Trance took their seats. 

Dylan took a seat on Trance’s other side. “They certainly can be. I’m glad to see you back in action.”

“Yep. It was just a cold. I was fine yesterday and could have worked, but Doyle insisted I rest until today.”  Her voice cracked and she coughed. It was followed by another, and another another, barking from behind the arm she used to cover it. His heart dipped. Working out had been her idea, but he hadn’t argued because it was damn hard to argue with her sometimes.

“You okay?” he asked. From the corner of his eye, he could see Doyle watching and assessing.

“Coughs can linger for a couple weeks. I’m fine.” There was a tiny hint of an edge to her words. She’d said as much this morning. But he worried. A bunch. Because one nearly fatal illness was plenty and no matter how often she said she was fine his heart remembered those moments of terror on the Andromeda when he’d almost lost her. Almost lost all of this before it had a chance to develop.

Trance realized everyone had stopped to stare and fidgeted. After a long drink of the margarita and her voice was more solid. “Really, I’m fine. I just forgot to take the next dose of my cough suppressant.”

“But you aren’t always the best judge,” he said, margarita in hand. “Like six months ago on our way back from Rindra when you told me you were just tired then spiked a fever so high you were delirious and spoke in tongues? Dylan was the only person who could understand you once we got back to Andromeda.”

“I wasn’t speaking in tongues. It was my native language. I had no other symptoms of illness until the fever.”

“Okay, four months ago when you caught that stomach bug, said you were fine, and an hour I after I went to work you passed out from dehydration? Or the allergic reaction you had to those nuts on Hart Drift after you ignored your mouth itching?”

Her eyes narrowed. “I am fine right now. You can ask Rommie or Doyle.”

Was she speaking more slowly than usual? Training her eyes on him a little too sharply?

Rommie raised an eyebrow. “Trance is healthy, Seamus, but I do detect an elevated heart rate. There is some vaso-dilation in the cheeks as well and her surface temperature has gone up one and a half degrees.”

Dylan shifted in his seat. Beka, across from him, had developed a strong interest in the pulp drifting to the bottom of her glass. He got the distinct impression that he’d let his mouth run away with him and said something wrong, but the worry came back. “What’s that mean?”

A snicker from Beka. Rhade slipped into the seat next to her and exchanged a look with Dylan. Doyle was sympathetic. Sort of. If he squinted real hard.

“I think what Rommie is trying to say in her normal diplomatic fashion and what Trance is too polite to tell you in front of all of us is that you’re annoying her.”

Awkward. The silence stretched on. He bounced his leg and looked over to Trance and it dawned on him that he’d done to her exactly what he hated others doing to him. That he’d yelled at her for doing to him on more than one occasion—though she’d always been right. Tried to pretend he knew better than she did. That he was the expert on Trance.

Whoops.

“Sorry, I was being kind of a jackass there. You’re the best judge of how you feel,” he said in English, stumbling over and struggling with the words. Hadn’t taken him long once they returned from Rindra to agree to let her teach him, and it had surprised everyone how fast he’d picked it up under her tutelage. Now, he wrote and translated his own communications with resistance cells—passed on relevant information about Nietzschean alliances and Commonwealth doings that the slave planets and drifts might be unaware of. It gave him more independence in the process without needing to rely on Andromeda or Trance.

“Thank you,” Trance replied, also in English and he could tell she appreciated the effort.

The awkward silence remained, punctuated by silverware scraping and glasses bumping against the table. Beka cleared her throat and whispered, a little too loudly, to Rhade, “Don’t you hate it when they speak in another language. We can’t eavesdrop anymore.”

Her words, bringing smiles across the table, broke some of the tension and dinner picked up again with light conversation, Harper’s faux-pas forgotten. And just when it seemed like everything was right again in the Universe, Andromeda’s hologram popped up to the side of the table. 

“I hate to interrupt, but we’re picking up a distress signal. Nietzscheans are attacking an orbital habitat in the Donbar system. They have an impressive defensive grid, but they are concerned it will give out under the barrage. We are the closest ship.”

Harper pushed his plate back at the same time the others. Beka gulped down her lemonade and Trance frowned at her margarita before getting up. No orders needed. They knew the drill. This particular scenario grew more common every day.

“Donbar? Didn’t they apply for Commonwealth membership a month ago?” Rhade asked. 

Coincidence that. The last distress signal they received, which the Sabra Jaguar answered, had been another world who’d expressed interest in joining.

“Once is one thing, but twice is starting to look like a trend,” Beka replied.

Dylan huffed as he reached the ladder ahead of them. “So much for a night off.”

 

* * *

 

 

The Nietzscheans had a dozen ships. All traditional, unmodified Garuda class fighters, meaning there should be a carrier ship nearby. Not visible, though. Rommie linked into the mainframe, but couldn’t detect any sign of a carrier ship within her sensor range. Either they’d hidden it, or it was one or two slips away. As this was a slipstream nexus with seven entry points, it could be anywhere in the Tri-Galaxies. Got to keep searching but first, she needed to identify them. She zeroed in on the markings. There.

“What are we looking at?” Dylan asked.

“Dozen Garuda class. Perhaps some upgraded weaponry, but nothing more. Markings indicate that they are from the Cignus and Kenja Prides.”

“Cignus is a little far from home,” Trance said as she pulled up a running report of environmental and artificial gravity systems’ status. Harper, beside her, pinged the mainframe for engineering reports. She sensed Doyle in the mainframe too, prepping Med Deck for potential casualties. Down there, stations sprung to life and both defensive and helper bots moved in to greet the medics when they arrived.

Dylan hit the alert klaxon and it blared throughout the ship. At its cue, Rommie readied weapons for Rhade and checked in with each station as crew members rushed to them. Some were only in partial uniform, having left their dinners behind in the Crew Mess. Quick though, despite being out of uniform. Every station was manned in under three minutes. She’d have to tell Dylan after everything settled down.

“Those bastards. I spent twelve hours in negotiations with Kenja last week.” Beka said, “Broke out the nice plates and everything—I thought we really had that spark. That we were gonna be best friends forever.”

“Just goes to show you. Some people have no respect for hospitality.” Harper added, tapping at his console with a little more force than necessary.

“Well, perhaps if the nice plates couldn’t convince them that our cause is the right one, missiles can,” Rhade added, tapping at his console.

Dylan held up a hand, “Let’s hold off on that until we get a little bit more information. Rommie, how’s the drift’s defense grid holding up?” 

Outside, in orbit around a dim gray moon, the drift floated in four large, interconnected sections. Boxy, brown, and with a cobbled together appearance, it reminded Rommie of the Eureka Maru. A good little ship, serviceable and tough, but not pretty. A swarm of point defense satellites and defensive drones circled the entire station, firing at approaching missiles. As Dylan spoke, a missile slipped past and hit one of the satellites. It exploded in a flash of orange.

Information streamed through her mind as she opened it to the world outside and directed her sensors to the drift. Too much information. A few commands tapped into the console narrowed her view. “There are holes in the defensive grid to their starboard. It’s resulted in hull breaches on the lower decks of what looks like the ore processing section and micro-fractures on the upper decks. The other three sections are unharmed.”

Life was her next focus. She searched for heat signatures, heartbeats, and other signs of life; Humans, Castillian, Nightsider… a handful of other species. Their numbers matched her expectation. “They don’t appear to have sustained many casualties, however, there are hundreds of people in the upper decks and another direct hit will likely create several massive breaches.”

“They are also leaking oxygen from the hull breaches,” Trance added. “The fighters are avoiding the habitat and commerce sections. See, there? They’re focusing on the defensive grids around the command and mining sections.”

“Taking slaves,” Harper spat out, voicing Rommie’s same conclusion.

“Well then, Beka, bring us in. Let’s put an end to this.”

The Nietzschean fighters had ignored the Andromeda when she exited slipstream, but they reacted now, half pulling together into a defensive formation and rounding on the Andromeda while the rest continued their attack. Rommie kept part of her focus on the Drift in case they needed her to swoop in.

“Well, we’ve got their attention. Even if they continue their attack, this break will give the Drift a chance to fill in the gaps in their grid,” Rhade said. “Should I announce to the Kenja and Cignus prides that we have the Matriarch on board right now?”

An airlock on the Drift opened and two defensive satellites shot out and moved towards the gap in the grid.

“You know, if they cared about that, I doubt they’d be pointing their weapons at us right now,” Beka said, shooting Rhade a smile over her shoulder.

“I’m inclined to agree with Beka,” Rommie said. They lead ship has fired a volley of offensive missiles.”

“Well, that’s not very nice of them,” Dylan said. “Load defensive missile tubes one through twenty and fire.”

“Aye,” Rhade noted then entered the Commands. The missiles launched, their computers zeroing in on the Nietzschean missiles, meeting them long before they reached her hull. They exploded in quickly squelched bursts of fire and debris. A couple of now target-less missiles continued on to the ship and smacked into its hull. The ship jerked to the side before righting itself. A warning shot.

“Target the lead ship with offensive missiles,” Dylan ordered.

Rommie nodded. “Done.”

“Would have been nice for them to at least try to talk to us before firing. Communication is so important in a relationship. Open a channel, Rhade. Beka, order them to stand down as their Matriarch and let’s see what happens.” Dylan took a step forward and folded his hands behind his back, eyes intent on the screen.

Beka shrugged. “It’s worth a try.”

Rhade’s brows lifted, but he did as ordered. “Aye, channel open.”

“Kenja and Cignus ships, this is your friendly neighborhood Matriarch speaking. Just wanted to remind you that I’m onboard the Andromeda and would appreciate it if you stopped attacking and went home. These people are now under my protection.” Beka twisted around and gave Rommie a small smile. “And if that isn’t enough to convince you, consider your chances of survival against a fully armed Glorious Heritage Class warship.”

A beat, then Rommie closed the channel. 

“Flattery will get you everywhere, Beka,” she said with a smile.

“It’s always a good idea to keep your ship happy.”

The ships outside remained in place. Her sensors, trained on their weapons, detected nothing. A stalemate of sorts. She imagined the Nietzschean crews standing on their Command decks, much like hers, but having entirely different conversations. That part of her that shared thoughts and emotions with Andromeda was eager to fight so she could test herself against the small Nietzschean swarm. Another part of her hoped they’d listen and move along. Every battle, even one against inferior foes, ran the risk of hurting her crew and damaging her bodies. Too many variables that could never been accounted for.

“They’re sure taking their time,” Doyle said with her eyes glued to the screen. 

Right when the tension among the crew grew to the point that it must break, the ships pealed off. A slipstream portal opened nearby and they took off through it.

  
“Do you want us to try and follow them?” Rommie asked, though certain of the answer.

“No. Hail the Drift, let’s see if there is anything we can do to help.”

 

* * *

 

 

“Can you believe they just ran away? Cowards.” Harper stooped over his desk, tinkering. Trance looked on, with a small smile. A flexie abandoned on the mattress beside her—the paper she’d been reading less interesting than Harper’s goings-ons. He poked and prodded at the cobbled together monstrosity of a communications device that’d frustrated and vexed him for months. His lips made a straight line and little wrinkles had formed above his brow, but he was relaxed. Happy. Never more content than when there as a project or a puzzle in front of him—movements focused and refined—an artist in a studio, but with gears and gizmos instead of paints and brushes.

“Did you actually want them to fight us? We’re much bigger and stronger, but a dozen Garuda class fighters can still hurt pretty bad.”

“No, I guess not. It’s just typical of slave raiders. All their Nietzschean talk about being bigger, badder, and stronger than the rest of us poor schmucks and they never pick on someone their own size.”

“Or maybe they’re just waiting.”

He stopped working and craned his neck to look back, eyes flashing. “What do you mean?”

“I don’t know what I mean.” With a heaving sigh, she adjusted herself on the mattress and placed her flexie on the nightstand because there’d be no more reading tonight. “This is the fifth raid this month with just as many prides. All of them small and indirectly related to the Dragons. All of them taking slaves and supplies—especially the raw materials for manufacturing ships and weapons.”

“And, don’t forget, they’re some of the nastiest, blood-thirstiest pieces of work out there. Pirates and bandits the lot of ‘em.”

Harper wasn’t wrong; these were prides Beka had little chance of wooing. They’d never bend the knee to Humans or work alongside them. In the last three hundred years, they’d forgotten that at one time Nietzscheans had been known throughout the Commonwealth as more than brutal warlords. These prides had forgotten that strength wasn’t always about physical prowess or how well they lorded over those around them. Even the Sabra-Jaguar, known for their ruthlessness and cunning, understood that true strength came from alliances and bonds, even with those who didn’t share the same worldview.

“Charlemagne believes the Dragons intend to go to war and are biding their time.”

Harper turned back around and tapped a few commands into the console on his desk and the monitor above flashed to life with a diagram of the Tri-Galaxies and a symbol in the center that meant Andromeda’s processors were extrapolating whatever he’d asked for.

“Is that what Charlemagne says?” Harper asked, shoulders tensing. Trance didn’t miss the way he emphasized the Archduke’s first name. Hard to tell if it was general animosity or if Harper had a grudging respect for Charlemagne. Like with Tyr and Rhade.

Trance slipped off the bed, padded over to Harper, and wrapped her arms around his neck, resting her chin on his shoulder. Three months ago Dylan had insisted that they move into one of the larger VIP quarters when he realized they were both living in Trance’s quarters. Andromeda had thoughtfully sent her bots in to re-outfit it for a couple. One large bed, two desks, and a living space set up for two to relax and share meals. She’d even personalized it with a better setup for Trance’s plants and lots of storage built around Harper’s desk to keep tools and odds and ends out of site, but even with all the extra storage, his desk was a chaotic mixture of flexies, tools, and broken bits of equipment with wires popping out of them. An extension of his machine shop. Things he wanted to work on while spending time with her instead of closeted away. 

She rarely ventured into Machine Shop 17 anymore, convinced that she could feel the voltarium in there, though it shouldn’t matter to her body anymore, and it wasn’t something he left lying around. It had to be locked away in protected vaults, for good reason. She hadn’t asked, and he didn’t say, but she was certain he was onto the mass production of the weapons. Wasn’t going to think about that right now. Dwelling on it would only give her terrifying nightmares and it was almost bedtime. Nietzscheans were a safer topic than the Lambent Kith.

“He has come to our aid and Beka’s whenever asked and has complied with freeing Sabra-Jaguar slaves to the point that there are no slaves on the homeworld, only paid servants. It’s only been six months. He’s obviously serious about doing what Beka asks. I think we can trust him about as much as you can trust any Nietzschean.”

“Yeah, yeah,” he muttered. “Doesn’t say anything about all the other worlds that sill have slaves, and the Sabra-Jaguar economy is strong enough that they could afford to pay them better than Commonwealth minimum wage.”

“Glass half full. It is a start and Beka is happy, that’s what matters right now. It takes time to change three-hundred years of programming.”

The screen above the desk flashed. Half of the diagram darkened and hundreds of green dots popped up on the other half. Trance gave Harper a little squeeze. “Oh, that’s better than the other day! You only have to search half of the Known Worlds now.” Another glass half full moment. She tried to keep her tone excited, though after months of searching between slow-going messages between slave worlds and Drifts and Harper’s communication device—enhanced with the Vedran communications technology Ollie and Orlund were neck deep in these days—they’d still only ruled out half of the Universe.

Harper’s shoulders rose and fell as he let out a deep sigh. She pulled her hands along his chest up to his shoulders and kneaded the hard knots there. He melted down into the chair. “You can worry about the rest of this tomorrow, and if you need to do any tweaks to the Vedran tech, ask Orlund. Ollie has entrance exams and her project presentation this week. We don’t need to bother her until we head back to Tarn Vedra next Friday.”

She rubbed circles on his neck with her thumbs, digging into the muscles—an attempt to relax the tension. He sighed again. “I guess you’re right. We’re getting closer. Glass half full, right?”

“Exactly.” She kissed the back of his head. “Now let’s go to bed. Who knows what tomorrow’s going to bring.”

 

* * *

 

 

Trance shot up, heart a hammer against her chest wall, at the insistent blare of the code black klaxon—imminent threat of attack. The lights flashed, painting the walls with harsh, jagged shadows.

“Code black. All hands to battle stations,” Andromeda said, calm and stern. The demand repeated after a few seconds pause.

“What the…” Harper muttered beside her as he swung his legs off the bed. “Pants, pants, where the hell are my pants.”

She blinked once. Then twice. Tried to clear her vision. The chronometer said she’d been asleep for three and a half hours but it had to be wrong because she’d only just closed her eyes. As her feet hit the deck the everything tilted to the side with a loud vibration running through the hull. Kinetic missiles. Starboard, mid to lower decks. Not a warning shot—their attackers meant for this to hurt.

“Andromeda?” Trance asked, voice hoarse from sleep. A quick drink of water from the bottle beside the bed. Pants. Tunic. Both laid on on the nightstand for emergencies. Boots next. On the other side of the bed, Harper crashed about.

“Two Nietzschean carrier ships have opened fire. Dylan is on his way to Command,” came Rommie’s matter-of-fact reply.

Across the room, on her desk, her holster. As she passed by Harper pressed something cold, wet, and metallic into her hand. She blinked for a moment confused at the need to process something beyond standard emergency protocol.

“Power boost. Drink a bit and give the rest to me. You’ll thank me later” He picked up his tool belt and cinched it around his waist, then grabbed for his holster.

Unable to argue, she put the can to her mouth, took a large draft, and almost gagged at the syrupy bubbles that filled her mouth but forced three large mouthfuls down. Caffeine to shake off the fog and bring the world into focus. She handed the can back and slipped on her holster with her force lance, comm, and tools already tucked into its pockets.

“Let’s go,” Harper said and together they took off at a run, meeting Rhade halfway down the hall. Andromeda pitched again and Rhade’s arm shot out and grabbed her bicep hard enough to bruise so she didn’t hit the floor.

“They aren’t messing around,” Rhade sad as he gripped the ladder’s rungs. Harper motioned for Trance to follow, taking up the rear. A habit developed during her convalescence the others had not shaken. Always someone to catch her if her strength failed and Andromeda couldn’t react fast enough.

Halfway to the next deck, at the entrance to the service conduit, the ship pitched again. Deeper inside, metal crashed against metal and a rush of hot air set fire to her cheeks.

Harper grunted. “Dammit. Rommie, send a team in for damage control after the fire is out, will you? That’s gonna mess with sensors. Also, see if you can divert power for now. Backups will have to do.” No hesitation. The shroud of immaturity normally wrapped around him dropped. Focused, ready to protect Andromeda and the people he loved with the single-minded focus and passion that made him an amazing engineer.

“On it,” Andromeda answered as Rhade hefted himself up into the corridor outside Command. He reached an arm out to her and helped her off the ladder as everything shuddered and jerked. For a split second, gravity dipped and corrected itself much to the displeasure of both ankles. Harper stumbled and she caught his arm. With a nod, they pushed on through the doors of Command, heavy boots on the deck in the opposite direction announcing more arrivals.

Rhade peeled to the right while she and Harper booked it to their shared station. Two large, angular, ships consumed the view outside the screen with thirteen fighters swarming around them. There had to be more where she couldn’t see them. She glanced at the readout across the deck. At least six more outside of view. Dylan stood in the center of the deck, eyes forward, countenance solid as if he hadn’t been woken up the same as them.

In her veins, the caffeine hummed and a jittery sort of focus took over. She called up running reports on life support systems and artificial gravity. Harper cursed under his breath beside her and she didn’t ask, because she had her own fires to put out. Literally.

“Deck seventeen, section three is on fire and the suppression systems aren’t working,” she announced. “Rommie, is everyone out of both sections three and four?”

“I’m not detecting any life signs in those sections.”

“Good, sealing both off and venting oxygen.”

Outside, bright lines of fire shot out from both ships at the same time. Dozens of them. Then more from the smaller fighters.

“Defensive missiles,” Dylan ordered in the way of someone who was already tired of this dance.

“Launching defensive missiles from all tubes,” Rhade said.

Trance glanced at the radar display. A number of tiny red triangles, meant to represent missiles, disappeared as little green triangles intercepted them. Six broke through. The point defense lasers knocked three of them off course. Trance braced herself against the console as the other three hit. A crew member screamed behind her as he was thrown from his console. Doyle was on it by the time she turned around.

“Hull breach, deck three.” Rommie announced.

She called it up on her screen. “Sealing breach, correcting life support levels.”

“That hit also took out aft sensors. They were already compromised from an earlier hit. I’m sending out sensor drones so we can see behind us and let’s just hope those fighters out there don’t swat them like flies.” For emphasis, Harper clapped his hands in front of his face and rubbed them together.

“We’re good to launch.” Beka’s voice rose through the comm.

“By all means, do.” Dylan said and a dozen sleek slipfighters joined the fray. Beka’s face popped up in the corner of the screen. Dark circles, drawn lips, but bright eyed and rosy cheeked from adrenaline.

“This is your Matriarch speaking. Apparently, you all aren’t tried of hearing my voice because here we go again for the second time tonight. I’m currently leading the slipfighters that are about to take out your fighters. Any chance you’ll respect my wishes and turn around and go home? It’s late and I’m pretty cranky right now.”

No answer. A beat of silence and Trance’s heart skipped a beat when two fighters opened fire directly on Beka. Her expression remained calm as she maneuvered her fighter out of the way. The missiles jolted past and Andromeda’s point defense lasers took them out.

Beka raised her brows and shrugged. “Didn’t think so. Guess we’ll have to do this the hard way. Last time I break out the fine china for you guys. Team, you know what to do.”

Her face disappeared and out on the viewscreen a deadly dance began. Beautiful. Almost seemed choreographed the way Beka’s slipfighteres dove in and out of the battle. They were outnumbered, but it didn’t matter. Two Nietzschean fighters exploded and Andromeda shuddered from the shockwaves.

“Last volley damaged slipstream. Should be an easy fix, but my team’s complaining about the AG fields fluctuating?” Harper raised an eyebrow at her.

She returned the look with both her brows raised. “I’m on it. Had another fire in crew quarters. I see it. Rommie, activate backup generators both around the slipstream and two decks above and below.” Maybe a little overkill, but better safe than to pancake the crew on those decks if AG fields failed on acceleration.

The battle carried on and the list of compromised systems grew. Harper’s fingers flew over his console as he directed teams of people, drones, and bots to where they needed to be. No matter how good a tactician Dylan was, he couldn’t stop every missile from making its mark, so the responsibility fell on Harper.

“Fire,” Dylan ordered again. Trance had lost track of how many times. A ray of light, like a shooting star, then fire exploded on one of the carrier vessels. A second followed it. Then a third. The final hit set off a cascade of explosions and the ship burst into a cloud of mechanical and organic debris. She looked away from the screen for a moment, lips pressed together. What a waste of life. A second to wish their families peace, then back to work. Their choices, like hers, had lead them to their fate. For better or worse.

But it nagged at her, the coincidences that led the Kenja and Cignus prides to attack this particular drift when only the Andromeda had time to get to them. If life was always a series of choices that lead to a specific outcome—and she had no reason to believe differently after how long she’d lived—then every coincidence was suspect. Then again, Harper often told her that the simplest answer was usually right. Something about a razor. Oxford’s razor? Maybe. Either way, these prides didn’t need huge conspiracies to go around looting and pirating.

Another Garuda class fighter exploded on screen, the slipfighter that finished it off looping around in a sort of victory dance before rejoining its team. Then, the Garuda fighters gathered together and made their way back to the remaining, carrier vessel.

“Stand by,” Dylan ordered, holding a hand up. “Rommie?”

“The fighters are returning to the Carrier ship.”

“Wait,” Trance said, but wasn’t sure why. It made sense for the Nietzscheans to run away when faced with imminent death. But like this? So easy? She called up the display. Perhaps the caffeine was getting to her, making her jittery and paranoid. “Something’s wrong.” Now to figure out what.

“What’s up?” Dylan asked. She felt his gaze on her. The eyes of all the Command crew.

Trance shook her head. “I don’t know. One second.” Her fingers rushed over the console. Locations of all the fighters before the retreat and all the fighters after. Account for the sensor damage. There were four missing from the retreat. “Behind us!”

“Beka?” Dylan asked.

“I heard. Coming about.”

Andromeda pitched to the side again. The monitors on Command flashed and she hit the ground, disoriented by the suddenness of it.

“Ouch,” Harper muttered and she had to agree. She picked herself up and offered a hand to Harper who rubbed his elbow with a grimace but otherwise seemed unharmed. “It’s not polite to kick someone in the aft.”

“They won’t get another shot off,” Beka announced over the Comm.

As Andromeda came about the battle between the Garuda class fighters and Beka’s slipfighters filled the view port. One exploded, then another. The last two took off towards their carrier ship.

“Let them go,” Dylan said as Beka’s wing made to follow. The slipfighters slowed and held position. The Nietzschean fighters disappeared into the larger ship and a moment later it jumped to slipstream, leaving behind clouds of ship debris.

“Funny how they managed to find our blind spot and exploit it.” Harper said, his eyes on the now empty screen.

“Beka, come back in.” Dylan ordered, then turned to Harper. “Lucky guess, or they were clued in by our sensor drones.”

“That must be it,” Trance said, voice quiet. But she didn’t like the answer. Didn’t feel right. Maybe after all of this she needed to take a run, or go down to the gymnasium and practice. Anything to burn off this excess nervous energy. Sparky Cola had not endeared itself to her this morning.

“One serious injury, dozens of minor ones. The crew is in reasonably good shape,” Doyle announced.

“I estimate repairs will take approximately twelve hours,” Andromeda added.

“Good. Stand down. Let’s take some time for breakfast and coffee. Take a nap if you need it.” Dylan said, and looked pointedly at Trance, who didn’t have the heart to tell him there’d be no more sleep for her this morning. “Then we’ll get back to work and get out of here. After that, we can try and figure out what the Nietzschean plan is.”

 

* * *

 

 

“You entered a lair of dragons and vanquished them with your knowledge. Why are you still so concerned?” Orlund asked. 

Ollie stopped tapping at the console and closed her eyes, rubbing the skin around them with her fingers. A heavy sigh escaped into the air and she turned in her seat to see her friend and co-pilot on the journey to rebuilding Vedran communications technology perched on the edge of his seat, leaning forward with elbows on his knees.

“I’ve seen real Dragons before. There weren’t any in that room, only a panel of academics judging whether a slave is fit to be trained at the All System’s University.” She’d grown used to his way of talking about the Universe as if it were a giant book of fairytales and sometimes it exhausted her. He’d never met a Dragon. Before Tarn Vedra had returned to the Known Worlds, he’d only met a single Nietzschean: Commander Rhade. He had no idea that they weren’t scaly storybook creatures, but people. Only people. Dangerous, vicious, blood thirsty people.

“But you surely impressed them. You’ve studied every component of the Vedran long range communications console and put together a working model using modern parts and you have never even been to one of their impressive schools.”

Ollie frowned. “But it isn’t fully functional. It works, but only as well as current long range communication systems.”

“It works better.” Orlund stepped towards her, eyes and smile wide. His enthusiasm always seemed feverish. Overwhelming. She shifted her gaze past him. Focused on the way the cavern dust floated in the conical motes of light. He brushed passed and kneeled beside her console, she followed with her eyes. He tapped a few commands and a report appeared onscreen. “Don’t you see, Olivia? Your system has a fifteen percent reduction in time delay and can intercept communications at a greater distance than anything the current Commonwealth has to offer.”

“We’re not supposed to be intercepting communications,” she said and allowed a small smile. “You could get into a lot of trouble and I could lose my access to your tunnels, so I didn’t exactly advertise those findings. They know about the reduction in delays, but I wanted more. I wanted to prove I belong at their stupid school.”

The same stupid school Mom and Dad were both tired of hearing about and the boys teased her over relentlessly because she couldn’t control her excitement. The same stupid school that would break her heart if they didn’t accept her no matter how competitive the admission process. A year ago, there’d been no chance in hell she’d go to a University. Now, her universe might implode if she didn’t get to go to  _ this _ university.

“You do belong, Olivia! More than anyone. Captain Hunt has faith in you, and everyone else. You’ve earned your spot, I know it.”

The smile stretched. “Are you ever not crazy optimistic?”

“Sometimes, but my father always said that we guardians of the tunnels were the guardians of hope. The Vedrans brought order and peace to the Universe. They brought hope to all. And we protected that hope by protecting their technology.” These rough cavern walls with all of their dust and the distant sounds of running water. With long, dark tunnels that lead to rooms full of technological wonders. The place Orlund called home. And his father before him. And his father before him. On and on for almost three hundred years. Or so Orlund said. “It is hard not to be hopeful when so much is at stake.”

“Sometimes it’s hard to be positive. Really hard.” She turned back to the console. Everyone was proud. The whole family had traveled with her to Commonwealth Headquarters and waited while she presented. But they didn’t get it. Every applicant was a genius like her. The acceptance panel had consisted of two Perseids, a Than, and three humans. Even now, she felt their gazes heavy on her. Words sticking in her throat. The details of her process and conclusions tangling up inside. Nerves screaming that she needed to run and hide. Take the easy path.

But dreams didn’t come easy. Never did. Never would.

“So I ask again, why are you so worried? It is something more, I can feel it.”

She tilted her head, considered his words. Rolled them around around and studied them from every angle. The answer wasn’t so easy to put into words. It was bigger than her. It involved her brother and cousin. All of the slaves and former slaves out there.

“I’ve been doing a lot of reading since I left New Burke. A lot. We didn’t have a lot of books there and we had no access to human history. They didn’t want us to know anything,” she explained. “Andromeda’s crew is trying to free all of the slaves, but throughout history, especially among humans, slaves aren’t always better off once they’ve been freed. They are poor and uneducated. Stuck sharing spaces with their former masters. But the worst part is how other people view them. How normal every day free people think they are better because they were born free.” The rage at it form a tight ball in her chest. “I just… I guess I just want them to see that the slaves are more than that and maybe I can show them. Like Harper has. If I get into their elite University, they have to notice us. They have to care.”

“And they will. You and Harper will make them.”

He sounded so sincere she thought maybe she could believe it. Believe that everything was going to go according to plan despite a long history of life destroying all her plans.

“Maybe. But that doesn’t mean I get to stop looking. Let’s see if I can shave some more time off the delay. Hand me the electro-spanner?” She slid off the chair and kneeled down in front of the console, pulling off the maintenance panel. “I think I know a way.”

The spanner was in her hand a second later.

  
  



	29. Homecoming

“Now where did I take my boots off last night?” Harper muttered as he searched the floor for an errant lace or thick sole poking out from beneath something. The clock ticked on, drawing ever closer to departure time, unaware of the plight of a single man in want of a boot. They were going to be late.

Forget his boots, where had he stashed his brain? Normally, he put his boots by the door. Or his desk. Or the bed. But somehow he’d lost them, and though he looked, he didn’t see. The details blurred together like a watercolor painting in the rain and keeping track of one train of thought was impossible with so many crowding in and demanding attention with the insistence of a toddler who’d spotted candy. He had remembered pants, right? Wouldn’t be the first time he’d forgotten, but he was _never_ going to get halfway to Command in his boxers again—once was more than enough. He looked down just to be sure. When he looked up he caught a glimpse of Trance and some of the wind leaked from his sails. Unlike the rest of the world, she was in laser focus and patently unamused with a thin-lipped look that reminded him of his mother when she’d asked for the fifth time if he’d folded his laundry and put it away.

Whoops. 

He swallowed and looked away because avoidance was always the best policy when a woman got that looks on her face. Definitely. Nothing could possibly go wrong.

Wasn’t really a surprise she was grumpy. Last night, as he’d packed for their week-long shore leave he’d been a hot mess and not altogether concerned with cleanliness. Clothes, all of them his, lay abandoned on the floor in nest-like piles and draped over the furniture like strange fabric necklaces. He’d promised to clean it up, but then gotten absorbed in his plans for today, mostly ignoring her until she’d fallen into a fitful sleep alone. In retrospect, this entire situation could have been avoided.

Too late now. He kicked a crumpled pair of khakis out of the way, but his boots weren’t under them. Trance huffed behind him.

“They’re under your desk. Honestly, if you just put things away where they belonged you wouldn’t lose something every morning.”

Oh boy. Two years ago he’d gotten it in his head to make cider from the talon apples they grew on Seefra 4. Even without Andromeda’s databases, he’d remembered the recipe he used to make hard cider when life was better. Homebrew was a way of life on Earth. What he hadn’t accounted for was the increased sugar in talon apples compared to plain old Terran apples. The barrel had exploded in a semi-alcoholic, sticky mess. He had a sudden premonition that this situation was about to go the same way. In other words, not well. And if that happened, he might as well flush all his grand plans down the toilet for all the good they’d do him.

Damage control—fast. Time to suck up the Harper pride and apologize before they fought. Be the man his mama raised him to be no matter how hard it was to take the first step towards the bed with her sitting there so prickly and watching him so closely. But he did it because this was important with a capital ‘I’.

“I’m sorry,” he said and sat down beside her, the mattress giving way under his weight. “I promised I’d clean it up and I didn’t,” 

Not that he was the only one to blame in this situation. She was cranky. Had been off and on for a few weeks now— and so had he. Her nightmares were keeping them both up and when she did sleep well, they were called to yet another attack or slave raid. Life on broken sleep was hard for both of them, but harder on her. The change in her mood wasn’t enough to worry the others, but it got them sniping at each other a couple of times a week.

“It’s fine.” Her pout said otherwise. She’d woken twice last night and tossed and turned the rest of the time. The dark circles she’d hidden behind makeup, but up close her lids drooped and there were creases beneath her eyes. A recipe for domestic strife if ever there was one. He really didn’t want to do this today of all days when he had so much planned.

“Can we skip bickering because both of us are too stubborn to say we’re tired and grumpy and go straight to you telling me what’s actually bothering you?” He asked, then sighed heavily. “I know I did wrong, but if my messes were that big a deal, we wouldn’t be six months into this relationship. You had _years_ of warning.”

She laughed the tiniest of laughs and attempted to smile, even if it only got halfway there. “You put your dirty laundry on my bunk the second day I was on the Maru.”

“Beka was always riding my ass about it.” He reached over and grabbed her hand and she didn’t object. Her shoulders softened so that she wasn’t sitting as straight-backed as a headmistress anymore. “Is it the nightmares?”

“The more we fight the Nietzscheans, the worse they get. We’re at war, even if the Commonwealth refuses to admit it and I guess it bothers me that I don’t know what to do to help.” Her sigh added a million more silent words to the conversation. He wondered why she still carried the weight of the whole damn universe on those comparatively tiny shoulders without sharing the burden. “I’m used to having the answers, but instead I’m filled with this impending sense of doom that keeps getting worse every attack because I just can’t see. It’s so frustrating.”

“Babe, you already saved the Commonwealth and three galaxies full of people. It’s not your job anymore.” He pulled her to him. It still amazed him how much strength was contained in such a bitty frame. Like his mom. All of it condensed down into raw power in order to fit. “That’s the anxiety talking. Any luck finding new meds to try?”

She shook her head. “Rommie’s working hard, but my brain chemistry is different than other human-like species and obviously the sleeping meds are not working as well anymore, either. I wish I knew why it was affecting me so much. None of this is new and I could process it in the past.”

Emotions were sticky and unpredictable and, usually, he didn’t have a clue how to handle them, but this time, something clicked.

“You had two brains back then,” he said. “Like Rommie. She can process a lot on her own but feed too much information into her and she needs to send some of it to Andromeda to work through without burning up her systems. As I’m painfully aware, our squishy little organic brains misfire when there is too much stress. Some of us get angry and some of us—”

“Get anxious.” She studied him, gaze moving over his face, as if she saw something new there instead of the same mug she woke up to every morning and kissed every night—with the exception of last night. Every time she did this it made him squirm, but he tried to stay still. “I’d never thought of it like that before, that I had help processing trauma. I guess even when I can forget for a moment that I am only half myself, it still affects me.”

“Hey,” he said gently and kissed her forehead, “no more talk like that. You aren’t a half a person, you never were. You’re a full, beautiful, and intelligent woman, even without your sun. You still have all your memories and everything that made you, you. It’s just that you’re traveling the road alone now. Your sun and you weren’t the same people anymore than you and Sol are the same person.”

Damn, he needed to write this stuff down. Where had it come from? Whatever possessed him now made a lot of good points. Maybe it was that wisdom Rev Bem always thought he’d develop as he aged. Stranger things had happened, especially on this ship.

She curled into him, buried his nose in her hair, and took a deep breath as he pulled her closer. Sunshine and spring. How he wished he could blow the clouds that blocked her light away forever. She deserved to shine.

“Thank you,” she said, voice muffled by his chest.

“It’s what I’m here for.” He placed a kiss on top of her head and pulled away. “Maybe I can take your mind off it a bit today, but first we need to get over to the new shipyard for this homecoming ceremony Dylan and Rommie are so excited about. So, my boots are under the desk?”

“Yeah, they’re under there, but hidden by all your other junk.”

“How do you always know where my things are?” They were right where she said they were, all he had to do was shift a box of parts out of the way and pull a gaudy Hawaiian shirt off.

Trance laughed. “Lucky guesses. Or I’m just better at keeping track of things than you. Probably a bit of both.”

He slipped his boots on and turned to her, offering an arm. “Ready to get this show on the road?”

“Yeah.” She walked over and linked her arm with his. Maybe everything would turn out alright after all.

*****

“That’s it?” Harper demanded in a whisper so his voice didn’t carry. At least he had toned himself down. “We had to dress up all nice and get here promptly at 0900 so that you could scan your thumbprint and they could do a glorified photo shoot? Where’s the pomp and circumstance the Commonwealth’s insisted on everywhere else? The Andromeda Ascendant has made Tarn Vedra her home port again after three hundred years. Seems like Rommie deserves a little bit more of a celebration.”

Dylan sighed as Harper’s voice rose with his excitement level, hands gesticulating wildly.

“There’s breakfast. Don’t forget breakfast,” he replied in an effort to diffuse his engineer before he went full exuberant. Harper had a head full of steam and big plans for the day; there’d be no stopping him once he got started. 

Truth was, Dylan agreed. It didn’t feel like enough. This, the culmination of his journey, Tarn Vedra’s triumphant return to the Known Worlds and Andromeda’s homecoming was commemorated with only a photograph of his crew on the planet’s shiny new shipyard with the Captain of the yard, Acting Governor of Tarn Vedra, and a single Triumvir. His heart wanted more fanfare—he’d dreamed of this moment since the day Beka pulled him out of the singularity and it was a little anti-climactic.

It wasn’t at all how he’d imagined it. The Vedrans remained hidden and Tarn Vedra was a shadow of the world she’d once been, but Trance and an army of exobiologists, botanists, and other scientists worked hard every day to accelerate her recovery. But six years ago it had seemed impossible they’d make it this far. Hope. Tenacity. Plain old stubbornness. Whatever had compelled him and his crew, it seemed like there should be a bit more recognition.

He had a theory. There were a lot of closed-doors meetings these days on the Senate floor, some he was privy to, others that excluded him and all members of the military, press, and public. New worlds reluctantly pulled out of negotiations as it became obvious that those interested in joining the Commonwealth became targets for Nietzschean slave raids. Allies grumbled about skirmishes on their borders with not enough ships to help them. Whispers of war and resource shortages. Six months ago there’d been hop. It had turned to unrest and malaise as the Lambent Kith tugged on their invisible webs, sending their vibrations across the Known Galaxies.

“Yeah, yeah. Breakfast,” Harper muttered. Trance whispered something in his ear and he nodded, then followed Beka and the others out the door while Trance lingered behind until they were alone. The new station was made up of clean lines, white walls, and chrome accents. Where the main conference gallery on Andromeda was designed to be a comfortable meeting place with warm colors, gentle lighting, and lots of greenery, this one was almost utilitarian. They didn’t expect people to sit in here and make tough decisions or linger over dinner. The difference between a ship meant for people to live, and a shipyard where people worked and hopped back down to the surface when their shift was through.

He appreciated the one bit of color in the room, a wall-sized portrait of the Tarn Vedra he grew up on. Blue and green, marbled with white clouds. There was a storm over the northern hemisphere when this image was captured, the eye of it over a resort city his father had loved.

Trance studied it now, her back to him, shoulders not as straight as usual. She seemed tired lately—easily frustrated. Over the last few weeks, there’d been more than one awkward moment on Command with Trance and Harper working next to each other in stony silence. While Harper could be frustrating, he suspected Trance’s change in mood was the underlying problem. She could hide the dark circles, but couldn’t hide the way she held herself or the way her eyes drifted shut in the moments she thought no one was watching.

With all the pressure his crew was under, it was a miracle no one had snapped yet. Wartime regulations afforded front-line crews additional shore leave, access to well-trained psychologists, and multiple other policies and procedures meant to reduce the damage of a life lived under constant stress. But they weren’t at war. Not officially.

“It’s a beautiful image,” he said, breaking the silence a moment before it became awkward.

“It is, but I don’t think they got her best side.” When she turned, she was smiling, and he too smiled at the joke. Trance took a step towards him and looked up to meet his eyes. Hers were warm, as always. 

“Are you okay?”

That surprised him. “What do you mean?”

“You’re going home,” she clarified, “but it isn’t the same, caught between the Tarn Vedra you left behind and the Seefra we spent the entirety of last year trying to escape. It has to be weird.”

Strange to have the object of his concern turn around and worry about him. She knew him well. Images of Tarn Vedra as he’d known it had come unbidden all morning. Lush, beautiful, and alive. A center for both culture, arts, and nature. Home of the species who’d conquered three galaxies and forced peace on them, then sanded their spear back into an olive branch to rule democratically for over a thousand years. The legacy of this broken world…

He remembered himself as a child eating lunch in his mother’s gardens, dancer flies with long wings and teal bodies buzzing around and cotton ball clouds above. The last Empress Day parade he watched with thousands of people cheering the floats seemed like it could have been months ago. Mixed into those memories, were the images of Trance, Sol and the other children. Of Avera, too. The four of them together on a vast, open plain of greenish-blue grasses and wildflowers at the start of an ancient ceremony. Another day, Avera’s four oldest kids tossing sparkling white rocks into a tranquil stream to see who could make a bigger splash.

Three Tarn Vedras. Three different lives. Each vivid and real. His childhood home, but also the place he’d fallen in love billions of years before his birth, and where he’d brought his makeshift family back together three hundred years after his supposed death.

He sighed and put his hands on her shoulders. “I’ve seen this world change so much. I’ve watched the Vedrans grow from an agrarian culture to the rulers of the Known Worlds and watched them disappear from the society they created. I’ve seen Tarn Vedra’s past, present, and at least one possible future.” He sighed, surprised at the peace in his heart at the moment of his homecoming. “I’m just glad to be back and to see everyone working so hard to make her as beautiful as she once was.”

Trance nodded, resolute. “Me too.”

“We should make our way to breakfast,” he said and motioned towards the door.

“Are you sure it is alright for us to spend the week here?” She asked after she took one last, almost longing, look at the poster before falling into step beside him.

“You need the break,” he said, stating a simple fact. There was more to it, though. When Harper had told him his surprise was ready and requested the time off it had come as a relief. They were ready to start mass production on the voltarium enhanced force lances and it had always been his plan to find somewhere else for Trance to be when he picked up the shipment. That Harper wouldn’t be with him was even better. It bothered him, sometimes, that the only thing the woman he helped raise and the man she loved couldn’t reconcile between themselves was done on his orders. They both deserved peace and happiness together—had earned it. Being captain sucked sometimes. “And, Harper’s been planning this for a long time. I wouldn’t dream of getting in the way.”

“You know,” she accused. Her brow lifted and her eyes flashed playfully when he didn’t answer right away. “You do. You know what he’s planned.”

Small groups of uniformed officers passed by as they moved down the hall, nodding and saluting. The smile that stretched across his face felt wonderful. At first, this relationship had concerned him on a number of levels. Now he was proud of the level of thoughtfulness and care Harper showed when Trance was involved and how hard he worked to be the kind of man she needed him to be. And how Trance stayed positive and kept going even the times it was obvious she was struggling with her organic body and the constraints of a mortal life.

Love was an amazing emotion. It brought out different things in different people—sometimes bad but most of the time good. It’d grounded Harper and matured him. It’d given Trance enough light to guide her way through the darkness.

“I know, but I won’t tell.” They reached the door to the officer galley. “Now let’s get some breakfast because Harper has reminded me that you are on a strict schedule and I have a few things I want to take care of before the Lange’s barbecue tonight.”

*****

It was cold outside and the breeze made it colder. Trance was dressed for the weather—Harper had told her that much, at least. The rest, down to the tiniest detail, he’d kept wrapped up so tightly inside that his secrets had become a power core that infused him with a sort of distracted, nervous energy.

Even covered from head to toe, the crisp hair bit her cheeks and nose. There were waves nearby and a hint of salt on her tongue when she breathed in.

As she stepped from the landing pad, blind from a soft cloth tied over her eyes, Harper took one gloved hand awkwardly in his and pressed his other into the small of her back, providing extra support. Gravel and dried grass cracked beneath her boots. The morning air smelled crisp, green, and damp.

“It’s a bit of a walk. Do you trust me?” he asked.

“You know I do.”

“You probably shouldn’t, crazy woman. But I’ll take it. Right this way, darlin’.” As if she had much of a choice but to follow blinded as she was.

The ground was uneven, their path uphill, and the underbrush snagged at her thermal leggings. Something changed in the air as they walked. Sleepiness gave way to wakefulness. Leaves rustled and birds tweeted. Small animals dashed away on skittering paws. All the while, Harper’s footsteps remained steady beside hers. Like the morning of the ceremony on Rindra all those months ago.

“We should be there right on time. You’re gonna love it.”

On time for what? On Rindra, she’d feared what awaited her at the end of their climb. Here, it was hard not to share in Harper’s excitement. The hairs on her arms to stood up straight and her heart took on a new rhythm.

The ground leveled out and they stopped after a few minutes of walking in silence. The waves roared now and the breeze rose up from below. Vertigo struck. They were on the edge of a cliff and for a moment she imagined falling off the edge of the world.

Harper wrapped his arm tightly around her waist. “Ready?”

When he removed the blindfold, she gasped. Before her, the sun rose over a shimmering ocean—a glorious ball of fire that transformed the water into gold. This morning, he’d given her the sunrise, and it was the most beautiful thing in the Universe.

For a time, she stood in silence and took it in. Tracked her sun as it inched its way out of the ocean and into the clear blue sky. Its beauty stole her breath away and filled her heart to the brim. It was as if, for this time, they’d become one again.

“It’s more beautiful because it’s a part of you,” Harper said, voice filled with the awe she felt. “This isn’t even the real surprise.”

Real surprise. It didn’t process at first. Like the Maru’s computers when she forgot they weren’t as robust as Andromeda’s and asked too much of them, she stalled. Got stuck with her mouth open, blinking in confusion.

“There’s more?” she managed after two false starts.

“We’re just getting started.” 

Harper was always one for grand gestures and theatrics, yet it surprised her to be his sole audience. 

“Take a look around,” he continued, “I couldn’t get you out here before the snow melted, but…”

His voice faded into the background as she followed directions. Ripping her eyes from the horizon, she turned in a slow methodical way that gave her time to commit every detail to memory.

To her right was the path they’d come up, the base of it hidden by the sort of old growth forest that only existed in a few lucky places on Tarn Vedra anymore. Behind her, the plateau overlooked a vast plane, muddy and brown with bright-green shoots of spring grass poking through. Painted against the sky was the familiar outline of a mountain range.

Her heart slowed and skipped a beat. It couldn’t be… She continued her exploration. To the left, the ghost of a temple rose, then faded away with a blink, stone ruins left in its place.

“The observatory,” she whispered and didn’t say any more, because if she tried, her voice would crack.

“Dylan helped me find it. We’ve filled out the paperwork to preserve it as a place of historical interest. Your name is in the conservator field if you want it. We’re just waiting for you to submit.”

“You… you said you were bonding,” she said for something to say.

“We were. Bonding over our mutual love of one Trance Gemini. Still kinda weirded out that he’s, sort of, your step-dad, but I think I’m getting used to it.”

“You aren’t the only one. The memories simultaneously change everything and nothing at the same time.”

He grabbed her hands and held them tight. His body practically quivered with excitement and his eyes resembled the ocean the way they sparkled.

“Before you give an answer on the observatory, there’s one more thing.”

Darkness had surrounded her for so long now that she’d forgotten the euphoria of moments like these. Like intoxication—a rush of blood and energy. It took every ounce of self-control to keep her body still. Everything around had grown more vibrant and more beautiful.

“How can there be anything more?” She shook her head, her smile as wide as it could go. “You have done so much already. You don’t have to prove your love to me, I see it every day, even on the bad days and I love you, nothing’s going to change that.”

“I know,” he said, face morphing to something more serious as if he’d found grounding for all that energy. He squeezed her hands tighter. “You deserve all of this, and so much more. So much that’s out of my ability to give you.”

Before she could respond, he dropped one of her hands and pulled her towards the path they’d come up. It was a rough trail of dirt with brambles and weeds half covering it. In the summer, those brambles produced a hot-pink berry so sour it had to be dipped in sugar or sweet nectar to eat. Amazing how tiny swaths of land, mostly near large bodies of water, remained as they were three hundred years ago. This forest used to stretch much further and had been far denser but it’d survived, timeless and beautiful.

The trip down went faster than the trip up and he stopped her right before the old growth thinned out. Harper was spring loaded and ready to pop with his face pale and cheeks flushed, like when they’d pulled off heists on the Maru and he was tapped into the security system waiting for a reaction.

“What is it?” She raised her eyebrows and shifted her weight from one foot to the other. She looked around for a clue, but only saw the trees and undergrowth around her. “Are you going to show me?”

Harper took a deep breath, shoulders rising and falling. He seemed to come to a decision and continued their trip. As the trees thinned out she caught a glimpse of the sunlight reflecting off their drop pod. Behind it, there was something more she couldn’t quite make out. A building where there shouldn’t have been anything. Harper sped them up and when they stepped into a clearing she stopped and blinked. Her mouth fell open.

A white house with a picket fence stood in the clearing. A clear path sloped down toward the ocean. It was a simple, modern structure all clean and efficient lines. A rooftop porch overlooked the beach cliffs nearby. The forest surrounded an ample, cleared-out backyard with a greenhouse on one end and what she suspected was a workshop on the other.

“I know you were pissed at me for not keeping things clean, and you’re absolutely right, I’m horrible, but I promise I’ll set up housekeeping bots so you don’t have to clean up after me all the time—”

“Seamus—” she tried to butt in, but he kept going, barely pausing for breath.

“And this is actually the guest house. The main house will have a better view of everything. I just thought we could work on that one together. But I made sure there was plenty of space for you to garden when we have shore leave, and it’s close to the ocean so I can go surfing. I thought that we should have a home—that you should have a home— so I used my land allotment the Commonwealth gave us for bringing Tarn Vedra back—if you want it.” He finally took a breath and there was so much hope and worry in his eyes.

“Seamus, it’s wonderful,” she said, and kissed him because there were no words for the way her heart overflowed with love.

*****

Extended families didn’t exist in the ghetto. Not really. When Ollie was a small child just learning how to force her will on the Universe there’d been a handful of aunts and uncles around. They’d lived together, as families often did but one by one those people had disappeared from her life until finally Jace and his mother were taken away, leaving only four where once there’d been many. People here spoke of grandmothers and grandfathers. First and second cousins—once, twice, three times removed. Some Seefran families were large enough they practically needed a compound to live in. One family a couple neighborhoods over lived in four homes on the same street. They had loud, bustling get-togethers, and while she tried to be grateful for what she had—because it was more than she ever imagined she’d get out of life—watching them left her longing for what she’d missed out on.

Tonight, around a bonfire that reached its fiery tendrils into a dark sky where the moon and stars played hide and seek with fluffy-white cumulus clouds, she imagined this was what it felt like to be a part of one of those families. There was laughter and noise and the warm fuzziness of sweet cider in her stomach. Food and buckets of ice cold drinks. Twelve people in light jackets and scarves enjoying a cool early autumn night together, shouting their stories across the fire. These weren’t her aunts, uncles, and cousins, but somehow she’d begun to think of them as her family. A strange mix. Two Androids, whatever Trance was, and even a Nietzschean. Beka who hated planets but came to visit anyway and Harper who’d given her a job in his bar because she wanted to make a few extra guilders. Orlund too, her first best friend, who had Jace’s full undivided attention while he recited one of his fantastical fairytales, face and hands acting out the story.

“When can we come to visit?” Jake asked Trance nearby.

“The Sabra Jaguar has brought another four prides to the table,” Rhade explained to her father.

“Should have seen her face!” Harper exclaimed. Snippets of their lives. Wonderful lives and it amazed her how they all intersected as if the Universe was a giant web, and this meeting of threads added something to the pattern. Like there was meaning in it all.

On New Burke, she’d felt so small. Here, she felt like she was a part of something big. As big as the whole Universe. Or maybe the cider was just making her philosophical. She should really try to act her age. Let loose and be a teenager—whatever that meant.

Dad pulled up beside her at a table overburdened with an incredible assortment of homegrown and hydroponic- grown fruit and vegetable dishes, bread from the local bakery with seeds embedded in the golden crust, and snack chips in shiny packages taken from the storeroom at Harper’s bar. So much food, so little room in her stomach.

“You ready?” he asked and wrapped his arm around her shoulders. She leaned into the embrace and rested her head on his shoulder.

“Yeah. Are you?”

“I’ll never be ready, but this isn’t about me. All parents have to watch their kids grow up and I don’t think it’s easy for any of us, no matter what we’ve gone through.” He kissed her head. “You were never meant for a quiet life, we always knew it.”

And now tears wanted to fall and Dad had an empty beer bottle and spoon in his hand. She managed to blink them away and swallow her overgrown heart back down by the time he clanked the two together, a sound like a bell ringing across the backyard. Everyone turned to look and she forced a smile, suddenly self-conscious. She shouldn’t be. These people had seen her on what turned out to be, simultaneously, one of the worst and best days of her life. They cared and there wouldn’t be any judgment.

“Today is a day for big news,” Dad said with a nod at Trance and Harper, once he had everyone’s attention. The fire crackled in the silence that followed while she stood there awkwardly with everyone staring at her before she realized Dad wanted her to follow. Mom stepped up to her other side, smiled, and squeezed her hand.

“Um… I got in! I leave in two months.” she said finally. No need to use pretty words or fancy it up. No need to say anything more.

Smiles all around. Harper whooped, throwing his fist into the air. She hadn’t told the boys yet, only Mom and Dad. They rushed at her now, looking like twins, and crashed against her, squeezing with all the power their pre-teen bodies could muster—enough to take her breath away. She met Orlund’s eyes, lit by the fire. His face shone. From the moment she’d met him he’d believed in her like no one ever had. Had written her into his fantasy world as some sort of gallant knight. It was all too much. But in a good way. She squatted down until she could meet the boys’ eyes with a perfect plan to get everyone’s attention off her.

“Do you think it’s time?” she asked with a surreptitious look up at her dad.

“Yes!” Jace said.

“I’ll go get it.” Jake took off towards the house.

She looked at her dad. “Let’s go back by the fire. We have something for you.”

There were rounds of congratulations as they rejoined the group. Rhade gave her a firm pat on the shoulder and she never once thought she’d be so happy to have the approval of a Nietzschean. Doyle and Beka hugged her while Rommie offered a hand to shake and Ollie got the impression she didn’t much care for hugs.

Trance took both her hands. “You’ll have to tell me all about it tomorrow when we go to look at the seed banks in the tunnels. I want to know everything.”

“Soon, you’ll be up in the stars,” Orlund said as she sat down beside him, wonder in his eyes. They were alike in so many ways. Both doomed to hard, lonely lives before the Andromeda flew to the rescue. Both dreaming of something bigger. His dream had become a reality, and now it was time to hunt down hers.

“And I get to see Xinti. It’s a super quick hop from there to Infinity Atol.” How amazing all of this was. “Maybe you can come to visit me.”

He smiled brightly. “I would like that. This is my home, but I always dreamed of traveling the slipstream to see other worlds. The Vedrans are out there somewhere. It’s my biggest desire to meet one and to see the Empress.”

The excitement died down some as everyone settled in around the fire. A strange family, true, but her family.

Jake came back around toting a box over half his size. A hush fell over the group as Jake handed it off to Dad who studied it, a question in his eyes. Mom came around and stood behind him, wrapping her arms around his neck and resting her chin on his head. She knew, of course.

“All of us kids worked to get this for you,” Ollie explained, “You don’t keep anything for yourself and you work so hard. We wanted you to have something nice. You deserve it.”

There was a time when she thought she’d always be small to him. When the revolution failed and she defied him to remain in the resistance, something cracked between them. When Jake was taken, it shattered completely. Their relationship was in pieces and they hastily picked them up and carried to this new world. Day by day they’d fit them back together. The gears had begun to turn again, but it wasn’t the same. They existed in this place where she was just out of his reach and he struggled to pull her back in.

The way he looked at her now… Something had shifted. Balanced out and she thought the gears might start moving more easily now, though things would never be the same again. His face was grave as he ran a hand over the gift box, then pulled off the lid. Inside, was a black leather case with a curved bottom that narrowed into a thin neck. Golden latches held it shut and in golden script was written ‘Garrin Lange’. Ollie’s heart pounded as she took in every moment of this. The fire flashed in her father’s eyes, now moist with unshed tears.

“Open it!” Jake said.

“Yeah, look what’s inside,” Jace added causing both parents to smile.

Dad popped both the latches at the same time and opened the case. His mouth fell open and he caressed the item inside before he pulled it out. The fiddle was made of a lightweight redwood from the third planet in the Kellan system and was lined with golden filigree along the edges and up the neck.

“You had to leave yours behind. I know this isn’t the fiddle that belonged to great grandpa, but we thought there should be music again,” Ollie explained. She and the boys had saved up for months. They’d done odd jobs, sold the vegetables and flowers Jake grew—with a little friendly advice from Trance—in his own little garden plot. The boys had started their own hover pod washing business and it excited them to no end get a glimpse into the lives of the rich. She’d asked Harper for work to fund this. It was handmade by one of the best luthiers in the Tri-Galaxies. It wasn’t the best model, and it was expensive, but it it was worth every table she’d cleaned and every late night spent fixing broken odds and ends for a handful of coins. The music was the only thing they missed from New Burke. It had gotten them through long, frozen nights and brightened birthdays and holidays when there wasn’t enough money for food, much less presents.

A few tears slipped down Dad’s cheeks. He picked up the bow and gave it a test pull across the strings. The note sang out into the night sky and hung there, reverberating off the stars and it was one of the most beautiful sounds. From the case, he pulled the tuner they’d made sure to buy as well.

“I don’t know what to say. This is…”

Ollie smiled at the boys, and then her mom and dad. “You don’t have to say anything, just play. We’ve been waiting months to hear you play.”

As he tuned, the others began to whisper. The gift had affected everyone, it seemed. Then, from his jacket, Harper pulled out the beat-up pennywhistle he’d told her about when she explained why she wanted the job so badly. Trance’s mouth fell open and her eyes grew even wider, then a huge smile stretched across her face.

“You’re full of surprises today.”

Harper shrugged as if it were no big deal, but his eyes said something completely different. “Ollie told me they were going to give it to him tonight, so I thought I’d bring my whistle too.”

When the violin was tuned, Dad began to play a rousing tune they used to dance to as children. An old song that had purportedly come from Earth and survived a couple thousand years called the ‘Honeymoon Reel’. Maybe that was true, because, after a few moments, Harper jumped in, the shrill notes of his flute blending easily with the thrum of the fiddle as if he’d known the song all along.

Ollie tapped her foot in time. The boys sat enraptured. Trance was the first to rise, reaching out a hand to Jake who’d been her shadow most of the night. 

Orlund leaned into Ollie. “What are we supposed to do now?”

She threw back her head and laughed. “Normally we dance. See, Trance knows. Beka too.”

Beka stood and reached out a hand to Rhade, who didn’t look thrilled at the prospect but stood anyway. Soon, Dylan was up too, dancing with Doyle while Rommie watched the entire thing with an eyebrow raised.

“Come on, Orlund. Didn’t you dance down in the tunnels?” she asked. He shook his head.

“Well, then, I guess you’re going to learn.” She stood and held out her hand to him and he took it, bowing like a prince in a fairytale.

On New Burke, they’d had to dance in the basement. Here, they did it under the open sky, trading partners and laughing at each misstep. The instruments played happy tunes and mournful tunes. Her mother sang when she knew the words. This was love. This was freedom. This was home.

*****

The music still crowded his mind. The sound of the Garrin’s fiddle blending with his penny whistle and the sweetness of Maria’s voice. She’d sung a few lines and they’d improvised until it sounded right. Fire still warmed his cheeks though it had been at least a half an hour since they’d bid their crewmates and the Lange family goodbye. The flight had been silent, with Trance’s head resting sleepily on his shoulder. He could still see her dancing with Beka with the bonfire behind them, her head flung back smile as bright as the stars above. Objectively the most beautiful woman in the entire Universe.

And now they were home. Not back to Andromeda, but the home he’d built for them. A permanent piece of land that belonged to him—to them both. Gravity and dirt and the ocean only steps away. The bar still connected him to this land, but this made Tarn Vedra his new homeworld. Earth could never be replaced in his heart, but Tarn Vedra was an extension of Trance. She’d breathed life into it and nurtured it. How could he not love it? It could never be Earth, but it could be home.

It would be home.

The door clicked shut behind them and he brought the lights up to 50%. They cast a warm glow into the living room. The environmental controls hummed as they worked to keep the room warm and waves crashed outside their window. He could soundproof the place on command but had chosen not to tonight, preferring the music of the surf to silence. Even the state-of-the-art filtration system couldn’t remove the lingerings hints of new lumber and carpeting in the air.

Though it was a simple pre-fabricated home like the Lange’s and one day they’d have a large house of their design, he hadn’t been frugal with furnishing, filling his home with the sorts of luxuries he’d been denied growing up and during his time impoverished on Seefra. Luxuries he felt Trance deserved in her home. The walls were painted in earth tones, and the furniture made of imported lumber. Expensive pieces that would last a lifetime. It needed art, but he’d been less confident about decorating without Trance’s input. Only one piece hung on the wall, a silk wall-hanging with “Welcome” hand-embroidered in the center and a border of colorful wildflowers. Maria had told him every home needed a welcome sign when she pressed it into his hand.

“Welcome home,” he said, pulling Trance into his arms after they’d kicked their shoes and socks off at the door. The carpet was soft beneath his bare feet.

Instead of answering, she kissed him. It wasn’t often he could read her emotions the way she could read him, but there was a deliberate nature to her kiss and he recognized the gratitude beyond words. Pure feeling and his heart swelled with it as he returned the kiss, tightening his arms around her waist. The walls melted away.

Her kisses were sweet, each one beckoning another so he sought her lips again every time she pulled away for a breath. Her hands came up to cup his face, holding it close to hers. Smoke from the bonfire lingered on her hair and skin. He breathed it in, imagining a hundred more summer nights with her swaying in his arms to the thrumming of a fiddle with fire in her hair and eyes. A being of burning energy, even now that she was as mortal as him.

The feel of her body pressed against his, the way the heat radiated between them, never got old. Night after night, day after day, he held her and it was always new. Always the best thing ever. He dug his fingers into the muscles in her back to pull her closer and traced the shape of her lips with his tongue. She sighed against his mouth, fingers tangling in his hair. On the flight home she’d almost fallen asleep, but she was awake now and ready to dance some more, as if the music had become a part of her too.

He’d just about resigned himself to making love to her right there in the living room— because God did he want her—when she nipped at his lip and twisted gracefully out of his grip, a playful glint in her eye and laughter in her smile. She backed towards the bedroom, pulling her dress over her head and tossing it at him. He stood in place and watched her, a lopsided and starstruck smile pulling at his lips.

Trance waited expectantly in her skintight camisole and leggings. The light in the hallway cast a halo around her. He crossed the room and took her in his arms again. They were an awkward tangle of lips and too many legs as they navigated through the hall, past the guest room and the guest bathroom to the master suite. He tugged at her camisole, abandoning it halfway down the hall. Her bra came off in the doorway to the bedroom.

If he’d thought this through a bit better he would have had candles and maybe some rose petals on the bed. Made it nice and romantic. But he hadn’t, having given all his brain power over to building a house without her finding out. Hadn’t planned much beyond the reveal. She didn’t seem to care or notice as they crashed onto a cloud-like down comforter and a half a dozen large pillows. He hadn’t spared any expense on the bedding, either. Had created the bed he’d always wished he had. Still wasn’t sure there were enough pillows, but it didn’t matter right now. What mattered was that she’d pinned him down, her hair brushing his face and neck, her fingers slipping under his shirt. Mischief sparkled in her eyes and her fingers danced along his sides, lingering at every ticklish spot until he squirmed beneath her and she laughed out loud, the sound of it filling the room.

He freed his arms and grabbed her about the waist, then used his strength to flip them both so that he was staring down at her from above. Her hair splayed out on the pillows—a rose-gold crown for a sparkling goddess.

She laughed some more, enjoying this game. Trance always enjoyed games. He kissed the side of her mouth and then beneath her ear, and moved down to her neck, biting the tender skin there. She stretched her neck to give him more access and he took another moment to take in the warm smell of her: the floral shampoo she washed her hair in every night; sweat and dust from a long day; fire. Earthy and sweet. Enough to get drunk off of.

When they’d first made love she’d been skin and bones and sharp angles. Not so, anymore. Months of hard work had sculpted her muscles and time had built up her curves again. It had happened so slowly that he hadn’t realized it until this moment as he felt her muscles ripple beneath his hands when helped her to her knees. She’d grown stronger. 

They’d grown stronger.

“I should give you a house more often,” he murmured, as they made quick work of the rest of their clothing, pausing for more kisses and more caresses. There were never enough. His shirt came off first, then his pants. “Buy houses all over the Universe. A giant fancy bed in each of them.”

“With pillows?” She picked one up and tossed it at him, the laughter in her eyes. He let it drop to the side of the bed then pulled at her leggings.

“All of the pillows. Maybe an entire bed made up of nothing but pillows.” He spoke against her mouth, then pushed her back down onto the pile of them, earning another laugh.

“Sounds hard to clean.”

“You know I don’t clean. We’ll have bots for that. Imagine, the whole thing nothing but soft pillows. Like sleeping in a hug.” 

He bit her lip the way she’d bitten his earlier then trailed kisses down to her breasts, first kissing the dark center of the starburst marking over her chest, then taking one in his mouth and circling the nipple with his tongue. She arched her back and her breath came out as a sigh. Trance was never loud when they made love. Soft-spoken in life, and soft-spoken in bed. It had become a challenge to draw out those sweet sounds of pleasure. He knew her body better than he’d ever known anyones. So he teased until her eyes lost focus and her breath came out in sharp gasps.

She turned the tables on him. Rolled him on his back and paid him back in kind, an expert on his body as much as he was on hers. When he thought he was about to lose his mind he pulled her down onto him. She cried out and clung to him when she moved over the edge and a few moments later he felt the tension in his body break in a wave of pleasure. He pulled her down she curled against his side, her head on his chest, over a heart that beat like a timpani, reverberating through his body, pumping blood to muscles that ached in the .most delicious way.

“I think the pillows were a good idea,” she said after they’d settled in. Her face was flushed and her eyes half open, sleepy again.

“Yeah?”

“Yeah. It’s comfortable.”

Like her. Like this. Everything so damned comfortable. So damned normal. As if her naked body was meant to fit beside him and his home was always going to be hers. It was written in the stars.

A thought that had been coming to him more and more frequently rose to the surface. A thought he’d meant to share with her this morning, but had decided against and pushed to the side. Now it filled his mind. Persistent. His heart hammered and he knew she must be able to hear it as she rested against him. He willed it to slow down, for his brain to give him a moment to think, but it didn’t work. She lifted her head to look in his eyes, hers narrowed with a small frown forming on her lips.

“What wrong?”

His mouth ran away before his brain could catch up. “I want to share my pillows with you forever.”

A giggle rose through the surface. She tilted her head to the side, smiling, but confused. “I mean, if you want to, I won’t complain.”

How was it he always bungled these things up? He sat up and took her hands into his, helping her to sit as well. He thought that when he did this it would be a grand, romantic affair. At the very least they wouldn’t be naked with sweat drying on their skin. But he’d done grand and romantic this morning and it hadn’t felt right. The intimacy of this moment did.

“No,” he said, squeezing her hands. The words tumbled out in a rush. “That came out all wrong. Trance, I want everything I have to be yours, too. I want to file our taxes together every year know that if anything ever happened to me that you would be taken care of. I want to marry you and call you my wife. I want to make sure that wherever you call home, I can call home too.”

A million thoughts raced through his mind in the beat after he’d spoken. He’d never once thought to ask her what she thought of the human institution of marriage. Had assumed that she knew he was interested in it one day. What if she said no? Even though she’d said earlier that she wanted to live with him she might balk at the idea of making it a legally binding union.

He let go of her hands for a moment and grabbed his pants where they dangled off the edge of the bed. From the pocket, he pulled out a small box. He’d carried it with him in his pocket since he was thirteen-years-old. The box had been replaced over the years, but the item inside was irreplaceable. Today he’d give it away to the only person he’d ever felt worthy of protecting it.

He opened it and held it out. “Will you marry me? Please.”

She reached out and pulled the ring from the box, handling it as if she instinctively understood how precious it was. Two hands of black gold clasped a heart of shimmering amethyst with a black gold crown atop it.

Words fell from him again. An explanation to fill the silence. “It was my mother’s engagement and wedding ring. It’s an Irish Claddagh and has been in my family since before the Nietzscheans took Earth. I couldn’t bury it with her so I promised to give it to the right woman.” His hands shook as he took it from her and his breath remained stuck in his chest.

“Will you?” he asked again because she was watching him with a storm of unreadable emotions in those huge brown eyes.

A smile pulled at her lips and she nodded so softly it was almost imperceptible. “Of course I will.”

The ring was a little too big, but not so much that she couldn’t wear it. He could fix that later. After he’d slipped it on her finger she kissed him. “Of course I will,” she said again, her voice barely a whisper.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Taff, it's almost like we planned this xD.


	30. Boil

The world shook as the missiles fell throwing soil and rock into the air. Dust and smoke lingered there blocking the sunlight. An already cool day grew colder and the shadows grew longer. A buzz in the air, another roar, so loud it caused her heart to skip a beat and stabbed her eardrums like a knife. Where was Harper? Her friends? So much going on. Too many visuals to process. Someone shouted, but the voice was muffled, words unintelligible. Her ears. The percussion had compromised her hearing. She needed to get away, get somewhere safe, contact Andromeda.

Another missile crashed nearby. She went painfully to her knees, the shock wave an invisible hand forcing her. Across the missile torn field, men called to each other. She remained down, eyes on them. Her hands ached from her grip on her force lance. They laughed and joked, far enough away from where the missiles ripped apart newly constructed homes and tore apart lives that had just been glued back together. As if this were a game to them. Nietzschean men, wearing their bone blades proudly.

Above, fighters circled in the atmosphere. A Nietzschean vessel exploded, raining fire and debris down to the ground. Hopefully there wouldn’t be any people where it finally hit. The Commonwealth had sent reinforcements, but too late. They’d been under attack on the ground for forty-five minutes. No one had expected this. No one had been prepared.

She had to get back to Andromeda, to her friends. She’d be safe there. But how? And where was Harper? She couldn’t leave without him. The ground shook again as she tried to stand and she fell back to her knees. Dust and smoke choked her. For a brief moment, it seemed like she’d never escape.

* * *

 

Trace started as the battle scene disappeared. A nightmare. Again. More dreams of war and destruction at the hands of the Nietzscheans. Subconscious fears she couldn’t escape and her heart hammered in response. She blinked the room into focus, confused. Where was she? Not in her quarters, or Harper’s apartment on Tarn Vedra. She was alone in bed, wrapped in a soft comforter and cradled by fluffy pillows. Time to take a deep breath and get it together. Just the subconscious meshing together current events, good and bad, and playing on her fears.

Last night came back to her, and then the day preceding it—almost as unbelievable as her dream, but the ring circling her finger and the bed she lay on were proof it had. She was safe in the home Harper had built for them. A home created out of love on the world she cherished. A place to grow roots. To return to when life grew too hectic on Andromeda. How had he known how much she needed that? If the nightmares weren’t proof enough.

She rolled over onto her side and took a moment to admire the ring. It was a little loose, but not too bad. A beautiful thing. It didn’t show it’s age, but somehow she felt it. Felt the lives that had touched it and the love they’d infused it with. Inside the gold, sparkling in the jewel on the ring’s crown, was the strength of women determined to love in spite of the terrifying, ever-changing world around them.

The first time she’d seen it was years ago on the Maru. A plasma explosion had singed Harper’s clothing and burnt his skin black. The force of the explosion had broken several bones. She’d removed his clothing piece by piece. Once he was stabilized and resting in a drugged sleep from a tea made with the near-black petals of a caralily, she’d gone through the pockets of his clothes so she could toss the remnants in the incinerator. Both the visible pockets and the ones she knew were hidden from sight. Each item, she’d set aside to give back when he woke. They’d only known each other three weeks, but she knew the significance of the things he kept hidden and close to his skin. Bits of the world he’d left behind. The ring had fascinated her, the way the stone in the center caught the light. Must have meant a lot to him, because it seemed like he’d have sold something so valuable long before.

She’d never asked him, though she’d wanted to when he pulled it out in the odd moments he sat still and reflective. He’d hold it and ran his fingers over the metal, lips pressed into a pensive frown. It’d been a part of him. Now it was hers to guard and protect.

Only the morning surf and the call of gulls broke the silence of the bedroom. There were no footsteps in the hall, dishes clanking, or other signs of Harper moving around. It’d been late by Andromeda standards when they went to bed, but still early in the night in this hemisphere. It must have been early morning now. Her limbs were heavy as she reluctantly pushed the blankets, off her and sat up, legs dangling off the side of the bed. The nightmare must have woken her before her natural sleep cycle was over. She ran her fingers over embroidered leaves of gray set against a white backdrop. A beautiful comforter, and one she might pick out for herself.

The gray carpet was soft under her feet. High quality plush, not like the durable industrial carpeting that covered the deck on Andromeda. For a temporary home, Harper had put a lot of effort into making it comfortable. All of those messages and plans—he’d told her he was remodeling the bar and bringing the building up to Commonwealth code so they didn’t tear it down. Sneaky and still full of surprises after all these years. Others must have helped him. How many had kept this secret beyond Dylan?

Silky green curtains covered the windows from ceiling to floor to block out the light. Delicate and airy, they shimmered when she moved nearby and the fabric was cool against her skin. The large window behind filled the room with early morning sunlight. Her sun’s brilliance was nearly blinding and she couldn’t make out many details.

Through the bedroom door and out into the hallway she moved, running her fingers along the textured walls. This place, this home, had no feeling yet. Not like the places she’d grown up in, millions of years old, with history soaked into their stones like water in a sponge. Instead, there was an air of anticipation around her. Infinite possibilities. If she closed her eyes, she could almost see them the way she had in the past. Laughter and love. Morning cups of coffee and late night desserts.

Harper had already opened the curtains in the living room. It was clean and bright with fresh air that carried a strange mingling of coffee, wood, and something sweet and spicy. Nothing at all like Harper’s closed-in and dusty apartment. Though, if they spent enough of their shore-leaves here, no doubt his tendency to hoard would clutter up counter tops and desks. She could keep it at bay, mostly, but no one could tame a tornado.

The office, with two desks in it was empty. So was the living room with it’s plush couches, reclining chair, and throw pillows. Harper wasn’t in the dining room either, but on the table was a mug and a plate with a few muffins on it—the source of the sweet spice. A flexi beside them had a note scrawled in his slanted hand.

“Taking my board out. Coffee and muffins if you wake up before I get back. Love you!”

She smiled and moved back to the bedroom. From the suitcase she pulled out a green sweater dress and a pair of black thermal leggings. Back out again she slipped on her boots and jacket, then snagged a muffin and the coffee mug and slipped out the door into the cool sea salt and pine air.

The muffin was still warm and it was one of her favorite recipes from Andromeda, a blend of fruit and sweet root vegetable purees and spice. She suspected the dough had been pre-made and packed into the provisions they’d brought down for their leave. She’d thought it strange that he’d filled the box with raw ingredients instead of having the chefs prepare food for them. He was a great cook—where she was not—but his apartment didn’t have a proper kitchen. This had been so far from her expectation that she’d assumed they were going to cook and eat at the bar.

It was low tide, but the waves still broke against the shore in snowy white avalanches of foam. At first, she couldn’t find him and wondered if he’d gone further down the shoreline seeking better waves but then she saw him pop out of the water along the second break where the waves were a bit larger. It had to be freezing. The temperature couldn’t have been too far above five degrees, made colder by a breeze that blew her loose hair across her face. With his heated wetsuit on, it didn’t seem to bother him.

Steam rose from her mug when she opened it and took a sip. It was creamy, bitter, and sweet. Out in the ocean, Harper caught a wave and skimmed along the top, following the curl, twisting and turning. How long had he been out there? The sting of the water was probably more effective than coffee in waking him up.

When he landed on the shore, skipping away from his board he looked up, saw her, waved a good morning, then picked his board up. She noticed now that an over-sized blue towel hung off the white picket fence.

Despite the way she’d woken up, peace filled her as she watched him approach. A sense of home unlike anything she’d felt in a few thousand years or more. Tarn Vedra was the closest connection she had to her past now, and here was a place she could put her roots down. Watch the world grow up again around her.

There weren’t many settlements on this continent. The nearest village several kilometers away, near the mountains, and another further down along the ocean. Both were small agrarian cultures who traded with each other, but kept much to themselves When they’d evacuated the other Seefras, they’d moved people around existing settlements that had entrenched infrastructures. At the time, they hadn’t known the slipstream would open the planet up to the Known Worlds again, so they’d left the people here to their own devices.

This area would grow too. In time.

“You’re up earlier than I thought you’d be. I expected to be back before you woke up,” Harper said as he stepped into the grassy yard, drying himself. Bits of sand clung to his cheeks. When he reached her, she reached up to brush it off, the skin cold beneath her fingers. His kiss was cold, too, and awkward as she tried not to get wet. “How’d you sleep?”

“Well.”

He narrowed his eyes. “Nightmare woke you up?”

Must have been her tone. He got better at reading her every day—both a blessing and a curse.

“Same nightmares I’ve been having, only on a planet this time.” She raised her coffee up, “Thanks for leaving breakfast out.”

“No problem. Figured you didn’t want to go for a jog this morning since you’re going to be hiking through the tunnels half the day, so I decided to take my board.” Change of subject accepted. He kicked off his water shoes by the door and stripped out of his wetsuit, leaving just his swim shorts on. Goosebumps rose on his arms as the cold air hit him. He tossed the wetsuit over the porch railing with his towel. “Brrr. I’m thinking a hot shower sound pretty good. Join me?”

She smiled and followed him through the hallway and into their room. When she’d first begun living with organics it had taken some adjustment to see time the way they did. To slow down and enjoy the small things in life as she always had, but also pick up her pace and follow their little routines. When she was small, she could lose herself in her meditations for several organic days. She could disappear into her sun for hundreds of years. Organic lives were planned around sleeping and waking. Around breakfast, lunch, and dinner.

Maybe her people had been right about one thing. She’d lived around organics too long. From the few years leading up to the Maru, until now, she’d lived as one of them, carrying out her people’s plans, yes, but also making friends and learning the joys of sharing three meals a day. Of relaxing at night and rushing through the days. So much that this felt natural. Felt right.

She slipped out of her clothes and laid them out neatly on the unmade bed. Before they left for the day, she’d have to make it.

Harper already had the water on, steam filling the bathroom. Hot enough to redden his skin, though it probably felt good after the brisk air outside. She stepped into the shower—big enough for four people—and embraced him. He wrapped his arms around her and lifted his eyebrow in confusion.

“What’s up?”

“Nothing,” she said with a kiss. “I needed this. It’s perfect.”

He lifted her hand and ran his fingers over the ring, kissed it and then her lips. “It is.”

 

* * *

 

 

“Did someone invite Lieutenant Commander Trance Gemini today?” Ensign Marcus Augustus’ voice popped through the comm. “Because I’m not sure if I should let you know she’s here or warn you to get your shit together because it’s beyond my pay-grade to deny someone with her security clearance.”

Orlund glanced at the Comm, and Ollie laughed. She reached out to the Comm before Orlund could respond.

“You dolt, you know who Trance is. Yes, we invited her.”

“I’m gonna have to check your clearance, Olivia Lange. I don’t think All System’s University students have permission to answer High Guard Comms.”

More laughter. She could see his smiling Nietzschean face lit up by the screen in the security booth. Their friendship was one that concerned her father, and she understood. Marcus’ bone blades had terrified her at first, too. But he was a great guy. Hailed from Tarazed, like Rhade, but part of a different Pride. She’d have missed out something fierce if she’d allowed her fear to dictate their interactions.

“Shove off. Let her in. She’s coming down to see the seed banks and you wouldn’t want to prevent her.” Ollie stopped and smirked at Orlund. “Unless you hate flowers. You don’t hate flowers, do you?”

“I’ll send her on in,” he said, and then after a pause, “But seriously, you should let Orlund answer the comm just in case our Captain is out here one day.”

Fair point. She’d grown far too comfortable down here. Came every day she wasn’t working, and even some of the evenings she did, if she could get away with it. These dusky halls, filled with the technology of the Vedrans, still a myth to her in so many ways, were a second home. A place of comfort. The walls vibrated with history and dripped with secrets she wanted to explore, and they’d done a considerable amount of exploring. Orlund was always eager to show her what he knew about the tunnels he’d grown up in and cared for all his life. She’d miss these afternoons when she moved on to college.

“It has been a long time since Trance has been here,” Orlund said. He stood and smoothed out his uniform, then his hair, as if he feared there really would be an inspection. “We must prepare.”

They’d already cleaned the place. Dusted it as best you could an underground lair. Of all the Andromeda crew and their larger than life personas, Trance was the one he least had to worry about. She probably didn’t even care about the dust. Yet it was her opinion he cared about most. Like Jake and Jace with their overactive imaginations, Orlund too though Trance was a secret princess and imagined all sorts of reasons why she had not assumed her throne. Kicked out by an evil step mother; hidden away from a witch at birth; trying to live a normal life away from the hustle and bustle of palace life and all its restrictions—every last reason traceable back to an old human fairy tale.

“Relax. We literally had dinner with her last night. She danced with you, even.” She hoped her smile would calm him down. He really could be high strung sometimes. Then again, he’d grown up under-appreciated, mostly alone, and friendless. Maybe that’s why they got along so well? “Hey, hand me that laser solder. With the changes I made yesterday, if I reroute power again, I might be able to boost performance another twenty percent. That could shave another ten minutes off lag time and increase the intercept range.”

No idea how the Vedrans had wired everything so tightly and powered all the processors enough to work together so well, but she was trying to figure it out. Their technology might as well be magic and their manuals ancient tomes of spells, but slowly, with no small amount of obsession, she was unraveling the secrets of Vedran communications. A few Perseid scientists had even tried to contact her at home to ask her about her process, much to the surprise of the entire Lange family.

Too bad she didn’t have all the records they wanted. She wasn’t great at record keeping and remembering all the small details. She could wax poetic about her theories, but not back them up with paperwork—something which apparently ran the academic world out here. Thank goodness Orlund had come up with the bright idea to record her work using cameras so as she made all these changes, she didn’t have to remember how to write it down later.

Trance’s boots sounded off down the hall, echoing long before she arrived. Orlund met her at the door with a regal bow, and it was kind of cute how Trance’s eyes grew wide, as if she hadn’t expected it when he’d done the same last night. Ollie smiled.

“Hi!” Then she saw something flash on Trance’s hand. No way. She dropped the solder—almost forgot to turn it off—and jumped up. She rushed over to Trance and took her hand. “Oh my God, this wasn’t here last night!”

“What is it?” Orlund had his head tilted to the side, studying the ring.

“An engagement ring, I’m pretty sure.” Her smile almost hurt. Funny how they hadn’t been a couple when she first met them, and now they were going to get married. She tried to imagine what a wedding out here must look like.

“That is wonderful news! We used to meet our partners on the other Seefras and marriages were entered into by contract to ensure each sector of the tunnels was still properly guarded.” Orlund explained. “But now, with all of us here, and most living on the surface, I am not sure how I will find a wife, or if I want to.”

She’d never really taken the time to consider settling down and getting married—on New Burke the prospect of starting a family in the ghetto—no offense to her parents—didn’t appeal. Out here, she was too busy and it was difficult to talk to the boys in her neighborhood. The moment communications relays and nano-power-grids spilled out of her mouth their eyes glazed over. Or worse, if they were Seefran—and not a tunnel guardian like Orlund—they narrowed them suspiciously as if science were witchcraft.

One day, perhaps she’d care, but right now her dreams were far from teenage boys and romance. Instead, she thirsted for knowledge and craved the comfort of friends. Even her worries were larger than theirs, because she heard whispers of Nietzschean raids from the High Guard officers she spent her time around, and patrons in the bar gossiped about the possibility of war like life was a game or some sort of holo-program put on for their entertainment. None of them had a clue of the brutality the Dragons were capable of.

But Harper and Trance? That was a romance like a holovid, and she was so excited for them.

“You’ll have to tell me all about it when we walk back to the bar tonight,” she said. “You guys go on ahead, I will catch up if I finish this. I think I have the soldering right and want to give it a try.”

Orlund nodded to her, then held out his arm gallantly to Trance. “Shall we.”

“We shall,” she said as she linked arms with him, a smile on her face.

Ollie watched them leave, and then turned back to her work. She was just about ready to test some long range interception, and had just the frequency to look for. Maybe she could learn a bit about what was going on in her homeworld.

 

* * *

 

 

There was history on these shelves. A history of forests, plains, deserts, and ocean floors. An entire world in perfectly preserved containers. Ferns that folded into themselves when touched and flowers that waited for insects to land on them before consuming them. Seaweed that grew around coral reefs, using the reef for support whole offering it sustenance. Desert grasses that offered flying lizards food. The wildflowers and blue and purple field grasses that made up the Vedrans’ sacred plains. Seeds and databases. A blueprint for how to rebuild a world.

Lighted shelves lined the walls and formed perfect library rows through the center of a vast cavern. The hum of energy going to thousands of tiny stasis units created a song like a choir. The air was dry, but not dusty, filtered through an invisible system that had functioned without failure for over three hundred years. It filled her with awe every time she stepped into this vault, like she’d come to pray in a cathedral, or pay her respects on hallowed ground.

This was Vera—her partner’s—life’s work. A chronicle of her accomplishments. So much life and beauty. Trance didn’t know if she would ever see her again, but she could honor her. It would take time, though, and needed to be done in phases with quite a bit of help from science to speed things along. Life and evolution were beautiful things, but they were slow processes, and if Tarn Vedra were going to support her population again, they needed to expedite the creation of hundreds of biomes and millions of unique micro-systems. All without any sort of central governance. Just hundreds of scientists working in a loose sort of alliance with a provisional government that couldn’t care less.

“Is there anything you are looking for?” Orlund asked, making his way to a workstation and booting it up. “I might be able to help. I spent a lot of time in here as a child. It feels—alive.”

Trance stepped in beside him, glad for this ally down here who afforded her more access than she might have had otherwise. She squeezed his shoulder and give him a smile, then let go, her eyes scanning the monitor as it pulled up the inventory categories.

“Inspiration,” she replied. “The planet is like that communication system you and Ollie have been putting together. We know what it is supposed to look like and how it is supposed to work, but it is an intricate network of parts that must work together and we have to rebuild it without a guide. I’m just trying to figure out what to do next.”

“It is a great responsibility to preserve the Vedran’s homeworld,” Orlund said. His entire life he’d done so uncomplaining. They all had their duties. Hers was to the Commonwealth, but she couldn’t abandon her world. Like Orlund, who knew little of her true identity, this place was her responsibility. Her beautiful, wondrous world. She’d heal her, as she’d healed the wounds of so many over the years.

“It is, but thankfully it is one I do not need to bear alone. There are many who love this world.”

“But not as much as you.” He surprised her with his insight. But she didn’t exactly hide her love. It was the one emotion she’d never been able to mask. She wore it openly and boldly, like a dahlia with its petals stretched out to soak up the sun. Love bolstered her, allowed her to get through each day. It was the reason for the decisions she made. Love was everything. “Will you and Harper eventually live in your new home?”

This morning she’d had a flash of a possible future. As she’d sipped coffee and watched Harper surf it had seemed a certainty that they’d spend hundreds of mornings just like that. Maybe she’d be in her garden while birds chirped all around, or walking along the beach on a summer morning with sand between her toes, eyes open for colorful shells to decorate with. Such a wonderful dream for her imagination to conjure. A place to call home—she wanted it with a deep and fervent longing.

She smiled. “Maybe one day.”

Orlund’s comm beeped and he looked down, brow wrinkled. When he flipped it open, Ollie’s face graced the screen. There was so much of Harper in that girl. Trance suspected that they’d find many more like Harper and her when they freed the slaves. The Dragons had subjugated humans for almost three centuries now. Some planets, they’d occupied most of that time. Cleverness and tenacity was its own survival mechanism to be passed down from parent to child over generations.

“Um… is Trance there?” Worry and fear weighed down Ollie’s words.

“I’m here, what is wrong?”

“So… I was doing something I shouldn’t have…” she started and then trailed off.

Trance moved to see Ollie better. Her brows made a sharp angle towards her nose and her eyes darted back and forth between the comm and another display.

“It’s alright, you won’t get in trouble. Tell me.”

“I think you should come back and see this. Please. I intercepted a message and I think—I think it’s bad.”

“We’re on our way.” The comm closed and Trance nodded to Orlund, “Let’s go.”

They ran through the corridor, their footsteps echoing off the cavern walls. Ollie’s tone had a note of urgency in it that resonated deep inside and sank down to the place she’d buried her nightmare this morning. The dread she’d carried accompanied it.

“Thank God,” Ollie said when they burst into the communications hub. She didn’t waste time, the words tumbling out. “I wanted to test long range interception abilities. I know I’m not supposed to be intercepting messages, I do, but I wanted to see if I could do it. I thought I could make it all the way to New Burke, so I dialed up a frequency the Dragons use to communicate with other Prides in our area. I found it, but—” She took a deep breath. Fight or flight played across her face. Two steps away from panic.

Trance moved towards her, placed a hand on a too-tense shoulder. “What did you find?”

“It wasn’t coming from New Burke, it was coming from here, and the message—they are going to attack. Today.”

A secret attack. Her dream. No…

“Show me,” she said, leaning over the console, eyes on the display.

“I’ve already decrypted it. I worked in the communication hub for the resistance and know how to break their encryptions. They weren’t trying very hard. Probably didn’t think anyone would be looking, and normally I wouldn’t be.”

Words filled the screen and her heart dropped into her stomach with a plop. Coffee and muffins threatened to make a reappearance.

“How much reduction in delay do we have?” she asked brain working through a series of equations: the time of day; Andromeda’s location; and standard communications delay times. There wasn’t enough time to send a courier. They needed to speak to Dylan in real-time.

“About 35 minutes now.”

“We need to bump that up another twenty minutes. I know you wanted to do this on your own, but I’m calling Harper. In the mean time, Ollie, get your family to pack up your valuables and head to the tunnels immediately. Orlund, please go to the guard station and have one of them help you start prepping for evacuation procedures on my orders. I’ll be in contact with their superiors soon, but we don’t have any time to waste.”

 

* * *

 

 

Harper’s comm shrieked at him from his pocket, angry and insistent. The noise of it cut through the din of the patrons, and then silenced it altogether as the emergency tone continued while he dug through his pockets. It vibrated against his leg and his fingers brushed the small device, but it slipped out of his grip. Dammit. It was hard to hold on with his hands shaking.

Deep breath. Try again. Don’t think about all the horrible things that could have happened to Trance down in the tunnels. A rogue group of mole-people the Commonwealth hadn’t flushed out. Unanticipated traps or security systems. A cave-in or a flood. His heart made a valiant effort to escape his chest, crashing against his ribcage and stealing his breath before his brain finally questioned why Orlund or Ollie would call using Trance’s comm device because that emergency protocol was Andromeda specific.

Okay, his fiancee wasn’t dead or dying. Good. Great. He finally got the comm out of his pocket. Everyone’s eyes were on him. He smiled. Tried to pretend everything was all right. Just a run of the mill call. Nothing to see here. No one was buying it.

“Drinks half price for the next hour,” he shouted, using Trance’s tried and true bar patron distraction method. A cheer roared through the place as he ducked into the back room and flipped it on. The sight of Trance’s face was like ointment on a sunburn. It cooled his fears.

“You scared me half to death,” he said, all his relief whooshing out in the breath that followed. She frowned back at him with deep etched lines on her forehead and around her mouth.

“Are you alone?” No conversation that started with that phrase ever went well.

“In the back room, what’s up?”

“I’m staring at an intercepted message right now that implies a Nietzschean attack is imminent. Ollie says her Vedran comm can shave off 35 minutes of delay. Andromeda and reinforcements needs to be here in just over two hours.”

What the fuck? That wasn’t possible. The Dragons wouldn’t be bold enough to attack Tarn Vedra, would they? No, they would, it was a massive power play to take on the Commonwealth’s re-discovered Capitol, the planet they’d placed so much value on. The new shipyard, too, was a pretty tempting target. War was coming, and today was a good a day as any to start one.

“You need instant communication.”

“We need instant communication.” Might as well ask him to lasso the moon.

“I can’t promise anything. It’s Vedran tech.”

“I know.” That resigned tone killed him. Cut as deep as a sharp knife.

“I’ll be there in ten.”

Today was going so well, too. At least if everything went to hell he’d crossed asking a woman to marry him—and mean it—off the good old bucket list.

 

* * *

 

 

Think. She needed to think. Her feet carried her from one end of the chamber to the next. Twelve small prides. Hundreds of ships. There were soldiers on the ground already. It was deja-vu. Just like her dreams. A battle in the stars and another on the ground.

“Ma’am?” a young Nietzschean boy asked as he stepped into the room. “Orlund says we’re to enact evacuation procedures on your order? It’s unprecedented without confirmation from my superiors.”

All of these soldiers with their spit and polish and chain of command. Time to put her High Guard officer hat on. “We have two hours to get the population of Seefra City underground. Ideally, all population centers should be evacuated, but the Capitol us under the imminent threat of attack from both the ground and sky. Your commander may give you alternate orders if he sees fit after I contact him. For now, Seamus Harper and I are your superiors and the highest ranking officers that have any clue what is going on. Call those working in the tunnels at the moment and start preparations. None of the blame will fall on you.”

In a way, it helped to wear that hat. The High Guard had checklists of policies and procedures and once Andromeda had a crew, they’d needed to learn them all. It gave her something to focus on instead of how thick the air in these caverns had grown and how gravity had increased two-fold, gluing her body to the floor. It gave her a structure she could cling to and climb on, like ivy on a trellis.

Right. Superior officers. She was about to get on the comm again when heavy boot-fall sounded in the hall, followed by a shout.

“I need to check your clearance.” The voice belonged to the young, human man who worked the security checkpoint.

“I already told you, I’m Lieutenant Commander Seamus Zelazney Harper and if you need my passport that badly, you can have it when I get where I’m going, but I have to pull off a miracle in a very short amount of time to save all of our collective asses, so I really don’t care about your red tape. Shoot me if you want, but then it’ll be your fault when Nietzscheans occupy Tarn Vedra.” The words flew and ran together, but it’d be impossible not to understand him. Ever the diplomat, her Seamus. “I for one have lived under Nietzschean occupation and I’m gonna do everything I can to stop that from happening here.”

He burst into the room and folded over when he saw her, hands on his knees, red-faced and gasping, the young man from security behind him in no better shape. His eyes met hers and his breathing eased. She stepped forward as he uncurled and took both his hands. The kiss they shared was quick, yet relief flowed into it, and fear. The lurking shadow of unseen danger and the question of whether they’d make it out of this one alive, or if they’d tempted fate one too many times and this was the night she came calling.

“Show me,” he said after, eyes searching the room. Trance motioned towards Ollie, who nodded and brought Harper over to the console.

The poor ensign at the door looked first to Orlund, then to Ollie, and back to her. “I need to check his clearance,” he said impotently.

“Don’t worry about it. I am going to call your superior right now, he can take it up with me later. I would like you to go back up to your checkpoint and prepare for a large influx of people seeking shelter.”

His face blanched. “Seeking shelter, ma’am? There’s no storm.”

Trance shook her head and frowned. He was so young. This must have been a dream post. A safe comfortable life on the frontier. A chance to see the legendary Tarn Vedra come back to life again, piece by piece. So many kids like this one bragged about the opportunity in Harper’s bar. They hung out there because they enjoyed living in the shadow of the Andromeda crew’s legend.

Time to destroy his innocence. “Were you on Tarazed last year when the Nietzschean fleets attacked?”

“No, Ma’am. I was receiving additional training on Rigel. My mother was.” His eyes darted too the ceiling as if he’d already grasped what her question meant. A smart boy. He might come out of this alright.

“Dammit. Cignus, Lupin, Orca, Kenja…” Harper muttered behind her, “five, six, seven, eight— twelve prides? That must be five-hundred ships, easy. If not more. The shipyard only had six ships in it yesterday, and only one of them a fighter.”

The boy’s eyes widened the more Harper spoke to himself and Trance wished she could take it all back and give him back the world he thought he lived in.

“In less than two hours there will be a Nietzschean fleet above Tarn Vedra and they already have troops on the ground, though I do not know where. Prepare to admit citizens looking for shelter.” At his panicked expression, she gave a thin smile. “Arm yourself and anyone you trust. No one will die today if I have anything to say about it.”

It was a promise she doubted she could keep, but she’d do her best. Now to think—What would Dylan do?

 

* * *

 

 

Harper sighed. Nothing like a deadline. Especially of the sort where failure meant life under the occupation of Nietzscheans at best and death at worst. Been there. Done that. Bought the t-shirt and carried the scars. Wasn’t going to happen again—not if he could help it. He’d prefer Andromeda swoop in for her daring rescue _before_ Tarn Vedra’s provisional government fell and the Dragons installed their pawns instead.

The Dragons _would not_ take another home from him.

“Orlund, do we have anymore insulated wire? Ollie, reconnect this for me while I search for the source of these power fluctuations. Don’t want this literally blowing up in our faces. It should be able to handle this new power-core, but it isn’t.”

Every second brought them closer to the point where any message they got to Andromeda would come too late. Thank God she was at Tarazed where they could muster up the Home Guard. Something Tarn Vedra desperately needed and was seriously lacking at this very moment. Sure, they didn’t have a proper government, and resources were stretched beyond their limits with the Universe going a tiny bit insane, but whose bright idea was it to leave the damn place defenseless? It was like waving a giant sign above the planet that said, “It’d be such a shame if something happened to our rediscovered Capitol, wouldn’t it?”

“Yes, sir,” Orlund replied and dashed off.

Ollie got right to work without a word and he tried not to notice how the color had drained from her cheeks and how she had to still her shaking hands before getting to work. Here he was, giving orders to a scared kid. A smart one who’d been forced to grow up far too early, but a kid. And he didn’t have time to comfort her. This was her tech and they needed it to work.

“Everything’s gonna be fine.” Might as well make the attempt.

She nodded, but didn’t look up.

“Exactly how much combat experience do you have, Captain?” Trance asked behind him. He kept his head down and worked, but he could pick up the whisper of her soft boots as she paced the cavern. He’d be cowering if she used that tone on him.

“I studied Tactics in the Academy and graduated top of my class. I was there for the Battle of Tarazed last year. Is there anyone else I can speak to? As I understand it, you are the Andromeda’s Life Sciences Officer?”

To think, he used to think Commander Harvard was hot. Hot maybe, but not very smart. If she thought using such a high-and-mighty tone on Trance was going to cow her, she didn’t know the first thing about Trance—or how much of a headache she was in for. As uncertain as Trance had been a few minutes ago, that tone was going to straighten her back and set her jaw right quick. Thank God he wasn’t her target this time. She was terrifying when filled with righteous fire.

There it was. The huff. Tiny, unnoticeable by those who didn’t know her, but the harbinger of a monstrous stubborn streak that turned the sweetest woman into the most hard-nosed matron. If only he could stop and watch this take-down—it’d make his day. But there was work to do if he wanted to save everyone’s lives, as usual. It never stopped.

“I have our chief engineer here, but he is working hard to contact the Andromeda so it can make it back to us with reinforcements before the Nietzscheans arrive. So, if you would like to prevent the deaths of your people and enslavement of the current population of Tarn Vedra, you would do well to listen to me.”

That was his girl! Go Trance. Now where was he. Right. Maybe if he moved wire A to contact B— The machine sparked. Ouch. He could kiss the hairs on his right hand goodbye. Was nice knowing them. But there it was, a buzz like music that told him all components were receiving a stable dose of more power. Excellent.

“Can you pass me the size three driver?” He held out his hand to Ollie.

“Here. Sounds like we’ve got power, what should I do next?”

“I think we’re almost ready to give it a try, once we get that insulated wire so we can bleed some of the heat off the Vedran power crystals. It’ll get hot when we get this things really running. Vedran tech likes to blow up unexpectedly and I’d really like to prevent that today. I like my life. It’s a pretty good one right now.”

Ollie raised an eyebrow. “That’s reassuring.”

“Hence why Orlund was under strict orders to leave the crystals alone no matter how much your experiment might need them. A lot of the tech down here is dangerous, as I’ve found out the hard way one too many times.”

Trance’s pacing picked up in the background, voice strained with her growing frustration. “If you will not send out an evacuation alert, I will do it myself. I have the capability.”

“If you do, I will have you court marshaled.” Well, Captain Harvard was welcome to try. “How will an alert help us except to announce to the Nietzscheans that we’ve discovered their plans. On top of that, how exactly did you come across this intel?”

The boots stopped moving. Orlund pulled in beside him, a spool of insulated wire on his arm. Harper put a finger up to his lip to keep Orlund quiet and un-spooled some wire. Ollie looked over her shoulder and then back to Harper, eyes wide. Harper could clearly picture what she’d seen. Trance, straight backed, hands on her hips, feet shoulder length apart. Those dark eyes stern, with so much intensity it sometimes surprised him she didn’t shoot lasers from them like a comic book character. For a moment, because there was definitely nothing more pressing to think about, he wondered what Trance would be like as a mother facing down a couple of children with muddy hands and other obvious signs of mischief. Then he wondered why he was thinking of kids and if they’d even survive long enough to discuss children.

“Captain Harvard,” The name might as well be an admonition, “You are correct. The Nietzscheans plan on striking the planetary defense system from orbit while simultaneously attacking Seefra City on the ground. Once they’ve broken through the planetary defense system, they will fire on us from above. My plan is to spring their trap early so those on the ground can’t get reinforcements from above.

A good plan. Even the not-so-hot-anymore Captain Harvard had to agree. It was exactly what Dylan would do. A false start on the other end said Trance had her. Harper held his breath as he added heat sinks running from the crystals.

“What would you have me do?” The tension there. The good Captain had to concede but Trance was going to hear about this later. Or, rather, Dylan was. Boy would he like to be a fly on the wall in that conversation.

If they survived this, they’d have to have a good laugh over it back on Andromeda. Maybe over a couple of stiff drinks—as stiff as they could make them.

“Sound the siren and send out the emergency alert to all comms and computer systems. Arm you Lancers and Officers and set them up in groups along the evacuation path. Warn them they might need to defend citizens and be on alert for Nietzschean’s posing as citizens. Your crew down here are already preparing secure parts of the tunnels for evacuees.” She managed to take a breath. “I commend them, and you, for their quick response.”

Ah, the cherry on top. Trance got what she wanted. He smiled as he brought the Comm up to full power—so had he.

“I will do what you say, but I will be contacting your superior officer after this is over.”

“You do that,” Trance said. A moment of silence followed and Trance let out a drawn out, high pitched growl. Ollie’s eyes widened again and this time Harper looked back. Trance stamped her food. It reminded him of the Trance he’d met all those years ago.

“Now I see why you throw your comm sometimes.”

Yeah, he saw Ollie’s amused smile out of the corner of his eye. She wasn’t being subtle about it. Glad he could provide some sort of entertainment in such a tense situation. He had a better way to relieve tension.

“Good news is, I think this is gonna work. All we have to do is try.”

 

* * *

 

 

Sometimes, the most relaxing thing was to have a mission go forward without a single complication. To have the gears spin smoothly from beginning to end. Kind of reminded him of the old days. Take a trip to Tarazed, sign on the dotted line for his dangerous and valuable cargo, send it through Andromeda’s systems, and lock it away in its shielded cargo hold for Harper to use later. Perfect. No fuss, no mess—like before the Commonwealth fell.

Even better, Tri Laurent and a few others, Captains and Admirals, had come aboard for a few drinks, and Rhade had shown his children and wife around the ship before heading down to the planet. Cute kids—beautiful and precocious. Beka had even gone back down with them, at Rhade’s wife’s insistence, despite neither liking children or planets.

With the pleasant warmth of a fine, aged brandy in his belly and most of his crew either on shore-leave or relaxing for once, the Universe was as it should be. Or had been. Emphasis on had. He should have known it was too good to be true.

“The signal is in real time, are you sure?” he asked.

Rommie raised an eyebrow. “I am quite certain. It’s marked as urgent with Trance’s code and is in real time.”

“Open message and—” he paused. What if he was overreacting? His heart had already plopped into his stomach and riled everything up. His gut understood what his brain didn’t want to wrap around. Trance wouldn’t call if something weren’t seriously wrong.

“And?”

“Recall all crew from the planet.”

“Aye.”

The screen faded to Trance with Harper, Ollie, and Orlund off to the side. Her expression said everything.

“Dylan, we need the Andromeda and as many ships as you can gather. In about an hour and a half, a fleet from twelve Nietzschean prides is going to attack Tarn Vedra.”


End file.
